I so appreciated the chance to tell a little of the back story of No Ordinary Cat–especially with the sequel about to come out. That sequel, by the way, has a new title . . .
Finding Waihona
In a recent post, I identified the second book in the Singular Cat Series as Heroes in Hiding. Turns out, that title had been taken–repeatedly! The new title is Finding Waihona. And it has a very special meaning.
Waihona is a Hawaiian word for a place to keep valuable items–such as books. Hale waihona puke is Hawaiian for building that stores books: the library.
In my story, Waihona is a hidden lookout where Rufus and his feral friend Asha seek refuge from a coyote on the hunt. For two human characters, Jack and Lexi, that lookout becomes a sanctuary, an other-worldly retreat where they escape everyday life to share innermost feelings and dreams.
The Secret to Sequels
Like many readers, I didn’t give much thought to the way sequels are choreographed–until I had to write one. Turns out, you cannot just pick up the story where you stopped and move on. That works in face-to-face storytelling, but not in writing.
To work, a sequel must make a reader feel at home in the text, not as if they’ve come into the middle of a conversation and have to scramble to catch up. Connections to all that’s gone before are important–but a writer needs to make them without being redundant. This, I found, is harder than it sounds.
And of course, a sequel must also advance a bigger story. It must answer the question What happens now? And the answer to that question needs to top anything that’s gone before. It’s surprising what an enormous role setting plays in all this.
To expand Rufus’s story, I had to expand his world. I had to get him beyond Mr. Peabody’s back yard and that comfy spot by the woodstove. Much as A. A. Milne did for Winnie the Pooh, I gave Rufus a whole village in which to roam. This meant, of course, danger, opportunities to get into trouble, and chances to meet new characters–humans and otherwise.
New Characters
Wild creatures have always provided heart-stopping moments for Rufus. This time around, he faces a mortal threat in the form of a coyote who wouldn’t mind having a cat for dinner. (And if you think Jeni Kelleher’s coyote looks menacing, wait until you meet Millie, a Pacific octopus.)
In Finding Waihona, Rufus encounters a few new human characters as well. Among them, a fisherman who knows a thing or two about baseball–and about kids. A profoundly shy young pitcher whose talent could take him far if he could ever come to believe in himself. And a science teacher who uses his volcanic voice like a weapon.
Mrs. Lin and Mr. Peabody will also be back–opening a whole new chapter in their lives.
Finding Waihona is in the final stages of production and will be released later this month. Stand by for an announcement.
It will be followed later this year by the third book in the trilogy, Asha, Queen of Cats. Asha has a small fan club of her own. An amazing number of people are drawn to this creature of the wild. One reader said, “I was so happy when she didn’t stay with Mr. Peabody!” Indeed, Asha is at home only in the wilderness–no sitting by the hearth for her. She steps back into civilization only long enough to make sure Rufus doesn’t get too domesticated. It’s time this other singular cat had her own story, and Book 3 will give her just that.
Secrets to Great Revision
I have learned more about revision writing these fictional books than I ever imagined possible. As I continue to work on Asha, Queen of Cats, I want to share some of what I’ve learned in the form of brief easy-to-follow revision lessons you can take into the classroom. Look for these in weeks to come.
Thanks for stopping by, Happy New Year (May 2022 be memorable for the right reasons), and if you have time, don’t forget to read my Kirkus interview. Thank you, Alana–and thanks to all of you.
He is one of the heroes in the sequel to No Ordinary Cat, titled Heroes in Hiding. This book has been in the works for months, and is now scheduled for release in early January.
Hints about the sequel. Many people had asked me about writing a sequel, and I loved the idea from the first. But Rufus could only get into so much mischief hanging around Mr. Peabody’s woodstove and back yard, so I gave him some space. Heroes in Hiding stretches Rufus’s world into whole village, featuring winding trails and a secret tree fort with an interesting history.
Yes, eventually we’ll create a map of this place. (Think of Winnie the Pooh.)
When your world expands, you need more players. Heroes features several new characters in addition to Mac, among them a painfully shy pitcher, a lovable fisherman with a secret past, and a young woman who dreams of saving the world’s reefs. Asha is back, wild as ever, with new ideas for livening up Rufus’s life, and dog lovers will appreciate the role Mac plays.
Heroes in Hiding, like its predecessor, is illustrated by the enormously talented Jeni Kelleher. This time around, Jeni’s take on the world is not only stunning, but whimsical as well. Wait till you see how this gifted artist portrays a jumping spider—or an octopus. You won’t be able to look away.
Ready, set, print! Once again, I’m happy to be working with designer and publisher Steve Peha. As I write this, Steve is putting the finishing touches on front and back covers. Then, following a round of final proofing, we’ll be ready to go to press. Thank you for your patience awaiting this book.
What’s this about a trilogy? If you can write two books, how about three? Here’s the thing about writing a sequel: You wind up raising even more unanswered questions than you raised with the first book. I’ve come to the conclusion that you need to either stop at Book 1—or go for three to tie up all those loose ends.
Maybe this is how “Yellowstone” wound up with all those seasons! Anyway, I’m not one to leave loose ends dangling, so I’m now well into Asha, Queen of Cats, Book 3 of what we’re now calling the Singular Cat Trilogy.
The title obviously gives a lot away—but not everything. Yes, Asha is the star of the show, but Rufus has plenty of time in the spotlight, and more characters emerge. Remember Sadie, the killjoy cat from Book 1, who tells Rufus he’ll be eaten alive if he leaves home? She has a cameo appearance. Queen of Cats also introduces a dog far less lovable than Mac, a student with extraordinary hidden talents he’s never even suspected, and a teacher who secretly longs to act. (Yes, I know. Anyone who’s been a teacher knows a thing or two about acting.)
The 10th Right. A few years ago, I wrote a book called The 9 Rights of Every Writer. It struck a chord with many readers. If I were to include a 10th right, it would be the right to self-publish.
Let me say that some writer friends warned me not to go down this path, and I’ve no doubt that writers who know as little as or even less than I do about the world of publishing have had nightmarish experiences. They have the tell-all books to prove it, none of which I’ve read.
It simply has not been like that for me. Having control over my book from start to finish has been a gateway to freedom and enormous artistic satisfaction. None of which would have been possible without designer, editor, and publisher Steve Peha.
That’s why I’m so happy to announce . . .
Platform Publishing! Platform Publishing is Steve’s new company. Heroes in Hiding and future fiction of mine will be published through this company, under the imprint Singular Books. This is an enormously exciting venture for me. I couldn’t be more thrilled if I were Rufus setting out to explore the wilderness.
More to come. Steve and I have some incredible upcoming announcements regarding No Ordinary Cat—and many other things. Please look for a newsletter from Steve arriving in your email. We want to keep you informed about new publications and all that’s happening with Platform Publishing books.
If you think we may have missed you, and you would like to be on our newsletter list, please send your name and email address to stevepeha@gmail.com We will be happy to add your name to our list of recipients.
Many people have written letters and reviews since my last post. I am profoundly grateful to all of you. Thanks for taking time to read No Ordinary Cat and to send me a personal review—or post one online. Your words and thoughts are a gift.
The greatest compliment . . .
As I was writing the book, I asked myself many times, “Will anyone notice this? This phrase, this image? This ending?” And et cetera. You DID notice. My dear readers, you noticed everything. The greatest compliment you can pay a writer, in my opinion, is simply to pay attention. Thank you from my heart for doing that.
Following are some excerpts from a few of the reviews I’ve received—and read, and re-read.
It’s All About the Words!
This is from an early reviewer–and I’ve read it a hundred times:
“Told in beautiful language throughout, the story is a joy to read, and especially to read aloud to a willing listener. Each word is well-chosen, each sentence carefully crafted; this is pitch-perfect prose that reads like fine poetry.”
The phrase “pitch-perfect prose” will live in my head forever. Another reviewer quoted some favorite moments—and I could write a review about this review. This is only a tiny piece of it (you can read the whole thing on Amazon). He quotes the book, too. Frosting on the cake:
“The words that oxygenate this tale, breathing life into both the human and animal characters, have been carefully selected from rarified air. They are challenging, respectful, rich and best experienced read aloud. Here are two tastes:
Like Uncle Oscar, Rufus would sail the world, trouncing rogues and hooligans, weathering storms that could test the grittiest cat’s mettle.
Cattails were sprouting profusely, and the blackbirds warbled their approval. Lavender edged clouds sailed through azure skies, while butterflies swooped in to kiss the newly budded sage.”
One reader’s overall impression was just what I’d been hoping for.:
“Rufus and his adventures will remain close to your heart long after the last page has turned. As Asha says to Rufus, ‘You touch hearts, my red-haired friend. It’s your destiny.’
Design Matters
It took weeks—months, really—to come up with the design for the book. From the beginning, I had wanted a small, square book because I love how little books feel when you hold them—and I’d always loved reading small books to my kids. I also wanted big—make that huge—margins, so pages wouldn’t look intimidating. I’ve given up on more than one book because the density of print on the page was choking me.
There’s no electronic version of the book, and yes, I’ve been told a thousand times that I should have one. Somehow, though, I cannot get past the idea that the books we love most are those we hold in our hands. I don’t know about you, but I love leafing back and forth, returning to favorite passages and pictures. And so, I felt vindicated when one reviewer said this:
“I loved how the book felt in my hands -its shape, its size, the texture of its cover, its colors. Also loved the way words are spaced on the page with lots of white space around so that each page became a new treat.”
From Adventure to Friendship
In the beginning, I’d intended to write a children’s chapter book. I didn’t appreciate how quickly fiction takes on a life of its own. Before I knew what was happening, the characters in the book—both human and feline—had become far more complicated than when I’d dreamed them up. But this evolutionary process wasn’t the only thing that changed the book over countless revisions.
The theme of friendship sounded like a drumbeat in my head. How could it not? After all, I was writing in 2020. If we’ve ever needed friends in our lives, it’s now. If there’s a silver lining to a pandemic, if it’s not insane to even hope for such a thing, perhaps it’s our acutely heightened appreciation for friends.
What’s more, it wasn’t lost on me that more people than ever are finding comfort in having animal friends. They’ve always been an antidote for loneliness, but never like now. In No Ordinary Cat, Rufus isn’t just some stray cat that Mr. Peabody happens to rescue one day. He becomes a companion, a confidante, a writing cohort. One day Mr. Peabody—who’s lived alone for years—knows nothing whatsoever about cats. A week later, he cannot imagine life without one. Isn’t that how it works? Friends enter our lives in unexpected ways and before you know it, we can’t let go.
As No Ordinary Cat grew into a book about friendship, I realized I was writing to adults as well as to children. Indeed, I was writing to my friends. And penning a love note to anyone who has learned—for dogs and cats are notoriously good teachers—just how perceptive and selfless animals can be. Reviewers picked right up on this:
“What a brilliant book. How I loved this tale of the indomitable Rufus who ventures “out where the stories are.” It quite defies categorization because it’s for kids and adults, and artists and poets and adventurers and naturalists and storytellers and cat lovers—and you.”
“Writing in the refreshing style of Farley Mowat’s classic dog story, The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be, Vicki Spandel has created an engaging tale for any one of the 95 million Americans who live with and love cats, effectively capturing their loving, intelligent and adventurist nature. No Ordinary Cat is an unforgettable story for animal enthusiasts of all ages.”
“Spandel clearly understands the human heart, human loneliness, and how we can become whole with the companionship of another – in this case, a cat. She cleverly allows us to see ourselves through her characters. Within her words and Helleher’s exquisite pastels are people we know, friendships we’ve had, and the love we’ve felt for another. Together they give us gifts of characters – both feline and human – who make our lives whole.”
“Young readers will enjoy a good story and not notice that their appreciation comes from well-crafted writing that flows effortlessly, with moments of tension and drama followed by moments of relief and resolution. Seasoned readers will notice carefully crafted sentences, rich language that paints pictures as realistic as the book’s illustrations, and characters that ring true to life.”
I can never write anything without imagining it in the hands of a writing teacher. So naturally, I was thrilled by comments from teachers who could definitely see No Ordinary Cat as a classroom resource. Because it’s meant to be read aloud, it can be shared by parents at home, too. Parents don’t always realize how much you can teach a young writer just by sharing a book aloud. Here are some thoughts from teachers:
“As a former elementary classroom teacher, this is a book that would have provided me with an abundance of opportunities to teach children ways to strengthen their writing – crafting strong leads, adding language that creates visual imagery, sentence variety, and much more.”
“I am a retired elementary and middle school teacher, and a volunteer at my neighborhood school. I’m always on the lookout for books to share with or recommend to young readers. I’m also the uncle who gives books as gifts—no ‘Guess what it is?’ required. No Ordinary Cat is a book I am excited about—excited to share, recommend, and gift.”
“As a university instructor of elementary pre-service teachers, I am always looking for children’s books they can use in their writing instruction. This one meets [all the] criteria. First of all is engagement. This delightful story grabs the interest of the reader immediately and becomes a definite page turner. Next is the amazing descriptive writing that causes the reader to “see” this story come to life in a most beautiful way . . . Spandel’s use of figurative language pulls readers into higher order thinking as they seek to make their own personal connections within their own lives. The illustrations are breathtaking and convey a tenderness that fits this book. I look forward to what, I hope, becomes a sequel.”
A Word About Writing Process
Mr. Peabody, one of the book’s two human characters, is a writer—a poet. Naturally, I couldn’t resist including some details of his everyday writing difficulties and breakthroughs. I was so hoping that someone would notice I’d done this, and sure enough, someone did:
“Not only do readers get to witness Mr. Peabody’s writing process—both the joy of words and the struggle to find the right ones–with Rufus and then Razi playing the role of poetry muse, we get to read a short collection of the poems his feline friends ‘helped’ write.”
Never to Be Forgotten
A favorite comment came from a colleague and fellow writer to whom I’d sent the book. She didn’t post her review, but her heartfelt words meant the world to me. When she first received the parcel, she was right in the midst of another project. So, after peeling off the bubble wrap, she meant to put the book aside for a time. However, the cover kept calling to her:
“Those eyes–those eyes I could not ignore. ‘I’ll just read the beginning!’ I warned myself. Well, that was not to be! Wow, can you write!!! The images you create are magical. I now do not need to ask myself , ‘Where was I?’ [quotation from the Introduction] Once I picked up your book and began reading, I could not stop.
“I especially loved the way you made me feel for both Mrs. Lin and Mr. Peabody at the same time. I found myself wishing for a love match between the two so they could both have Rufus at the same time.”
Did Someone Say Sequel?
Actually, a number of people did. I never could resist a writing challenge. Long and short is, I hope so. Working on it. Rest assured, I won’t keep it a secret.
Meantime, thank you again to everyone for your gracious and kind remarks, and for responding so warmly to a story that was deeply personal for me. You are no ordinary reviewers.
The first reviews for No Ordinary Cat are in—and they’re extraordinary. Which is to say, positive, gratifying, and revealing. When readers love a book, it leaves a writer walking on air. I’m thrilled to have received so many warm responses to a book into which I poured my heart.
Noticing the Little Things
In addition, it’s fascinating to see what readers notice—and some readers notice little things I didn’t even know would capture anyone’s attention. Things like sentence length! Yes! And chapter openings and endings. Thank you to these careful, thoughtful readers who have paid such close attention to how the book is put together—and in some cases, read it more than once!
Favorite Comments
Here are just a few of my favorite reviewer comments (and if you don’t see your comment here, it doesn’t mean I didn’t deeply appreciate it!):
I fell in love with Rufus!
The cover is breathtaking! (Kudos to artist Jeni Kelleher and designer Steve Peha on that one–also photographer Dennis Schmidling)
I read the whole thing in one sitting.
This is the kind of book you were born to write!
I hope this is part of a series. Does anyone know?
This reminds me of books I read as a child—the kind they don’t seem to publish anymore.
It’s so much fun to read a chapter and figure out how you came up with that chapter title.
Rufus reminds me of myself. Like him, I hesitated in making some decisions in my life—and like him, I wound up jumping right in.
Leave it to you to include a poet!
I can’t wait to use this book with students to illustrate the craft of writing.
The human characters in this book are charming.
When Mrs. Lin is sad, I can feel it. I feel her pain.
I love the rhythm and flow of the chapters. There’s a kind of timing and beat, like music.
This book was meant to be read aloud.
I love the way you leave readers hanging at the end of each chapter—urging them to read on!
The pictures are stunning!
This writing is very personal—I think Rufus is venturing out into your woods.
Love the language!
I cannot wait until my grandson is old enough so I curl up on the couch with him and share this book.
When you describe Mr. Peabody’s house, I think you’re really describing the poet himself.
This book isn’t just for kids. Anyone who loves cats or animals in general would love this!
This book is a gift.
It deserves to be a classic.
I’m getting copies for friends.
Thank you!
I want to thank each and every person who has taken time to write a review on Amazon, to write to me personally, to phone me, or to email me.
Please post on Amazon!
And I’d also like to urge those who haven’t done so yet to post their thoughts on Amazon—even if you phoned or emailed me. You might compel another reader to read this book. You won’t make me rich! But you will make me happy beyond words to know I can share my story with a wider range of readers. That’s been my goal from the outset.
Don’t overthink it! Don’t stress!
Some people, I know, sit down to write a review and freeze. It feels like you’re committing a GIANT LITERARY ACT. You’re not. Don’t overthink it. Just write from your heart. Write the beautiful things you’ve said to me on the phone or in an email. It doesn’t have to be complicated and it doesn’t have to be long. If you loved the book, just say why. It would mean the world to me. Please do it. Thanks so much.
It’s been quite a journey! It began about three years ago, when a gorgeous feral cat showed up in our yard, and I couldn’t stop staring at him through the window. He was curious, but wary, with the most beautiful face and highly intelligent eyes. I couldn’t help wondering where in the world he’d come from. We live in a rural area that’s almost uninhabited in winter, so he had to have traveled a long way to reach our yard. Through the snow, no less. Dodging predators every inch of the way. Puzzling over his story prompted me to write about a cat who is itching to explore the world—and finds a bit more than he’d bargained for. I had no idea it would turn into a book, and that took a couple of years, but what an adventure it’s been. And what an education. It has taught me profound respect for people who write fiction. It is more difficult and more complex than nonfiction. Because, my word, you have to make every last bit of it up!
Cats—and Wilderness
I love cats. They’re fiercely independent and can amuse themselves for hours. They’re incredibly entertaining to watch, partly because some part of them remains wild, and this shows up in a hundred ways—in how they comport themselves, how they stalk anything from mice to spiders to feather toys, and even in how watchful and alert they are. So, writing about cats came naturally—but the cat characters in my book are mostly invented. I did have cats once, Silver Tipped Persians. Gorgeous and very haughty. One, Suki, was brainy as all get-out, while the other, Zoey, could barely recall where the food was. My cats have cameo appearances in the book as Sadie and Karma. Sadie dares Rufus to make a journey he is completely unprepared for—and that would definitely be a stunt Suki would have pulled.
Rufus, the main character, has a tad of wildness in him, but is basically a home body, who loves evenings on the hearth, delicious food—and humans. To show the wild side of cats, I needed a counterpart. That’s Asha, who is wild through and through.
I hoped through Asha to shine a spotlight on the plight of feral cats. Scientists estimate we have somewhere between 60 and 120 million feral cats in the U.S., with Vermont apparently having the highest population. This surprises me since although Vermont is largely wilderness, it’s also very cold in the winter, so one would think it would be an inhospitable environment for an animal without shelter.
Feral cats do not live long lives. Life is hard when you have to hunt for every meal and search out shelter constantly. Feral cats are not much loved by humans because they do carry disease and they kill millions of song birds annually. So they’re often mistreated, but these days, there are agencies that offer help. Look up “help for feral cats” to find one in your area.
Most feral cats die of disease or are killed by wild animals. The forests and wetlands surrounding my home (the basis for the wilderness in the book) are inhabited by coyotes, badgers, bobcats, raccoons, and a few mountain lions—any of which can easily kill a cat. Of course, feral cats become pretty wily over time, and are less likely to be killed by such animals than are domestic cats. Pets disappear in our neighborhood constantly. I am forever warning visitors from Portland and Eugene not to let their dogs (or cats) roam free at night, but sadly, many do not take this warning seriously—and pets are lost hereabouts routinely. One man told me the deer would be wise to watch out for his Lab. Actually, it’s the other way around. Deer are not predators, but they are more than capable of defending themselves, and a Lab is no match for a riled deer.
In No Ordinary Cat, I tried to create a wilderness that is realistic. Beautiful and almost irresistibly alluring, but yes, sometimes dangerous. Asha manages to navigate this wilderness quite well, but for Rufus, the threat of death lurks around every shrub. He is not a born hunter. Some cats simply aren’t. This is what makes his personal journey so interesting, though. If he were simply visiting the next-door neighbors, we wouldn’t need to worry about him. And worrying about the main character is part of the fun in reading, don’t you think? I didn’t in any way intend to make the book dark and gloomy. Risk is just part of life in the wilderness—and wilderness is part of what the book is about. It’s about much more, though.
Loneliness, Friendship, and Heroism
When I began writing this book, I envisioned it as a children’s chapter book, an adventure story in which a cat gets out of his depth but is eventually rescued. It turned into something very different.
As you write about characters—and keep in mind that I worked on this book for a couple years—their personalities grow and expand and change. At first, Rufus was a tenacious, ambitious little kitten who just wanted to get away from home and see what the world was about. He was, in other words, like most young humans.
But as I wrote about him each day, he evolved into something more. A character with heart. Compassion. Intuition. He was capable of sensing loneliness in others—and he had the power to do something about it. This is not a fantasy, actually. Many animals are intuitive in this way, and it’s part of what we love about them.
During this crazy time in which we live, loneliness is something we all deal with. We can’t hug our kids unless they are young enough to live with us. Mine aren’t. We can’t have friends to dinner or go to parties. Yes, we can go on walks and wave at a distance. Yes, we can have people come to the back yard and sit six feet from us. But the heart yearns for more.
Mr. Peabody the poet and Mrs. Lin the gardener, the two human characters in the book, each live alone. This was a purposeful choice on my part. I know—or have known—many people who live alone, and it takes great strength. Courage. Like all of us, these people need love and companionship. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I thought, if Rufus turned out to be more than a “pet,” a term I don’t use in the book because the animals in this book are friends. What if he were a true companion, a soulmate? I’m not going to say I made him this because writing doesn’t work like that. I allowed him to become what he needed to be—and he is, I think, a character for this time, a mender of hearts. He’s the friend you long for when you’re isolated, apart from those you love and miss.
If you’ve had an animal—dog, cat, horse, donkey, or something else—to whom you’ve felt close, I think you will feel this sort of connection with Rufus, and see him as the hero he truly is.
A Word About Revision
I learned worlds about revision writing this book—and would never teach it the same way again.
Writing instruction starts, I think, with helping people find what they have to say. Then listening when they say it. It also means teaching people how to revise their work—and this is where so much of our instruction breaks down. And I speak for myself here too because although I imagined myself doing the right things—forming writing groups, holding conferences—I wasn’t ever sure I was teaching revision. I was promoting it, that’s for sure. Encouraging it. Requiring it, even. But none of that is teaching. We really do need to show students what it looks like. How we might have an internal debate about the use of a single word. For example, toward the end of the book, I refer to Rufus as Mr. Peabody’s writing “cohort.” No big deal, right? Yes, for me, it was. The word had to convey the right meaning and feeling, and I changed it many times. Writing buddy? Warm, but not respectful enough. Writing assistant? Inaccurate, and too businesslike. Rufus wouldn’t work in an office. Writing companion? Close, but not quite it. Rufus was more than that. His presence actually energized the poet to write. If you’ve got a cat on your desk, you know what I mean. Writing conspirator? Definitely a good option—but just a tad too shady. Writing cohort? Perfect.
I could take any number of paragraphs from the book and show how they evolved over time through revision. I’d love to do a slow-mo film of this very thing. I’d loved to show students how many lines I deleted. Probably half the original book. Students are often reluctant to hack off whole sections of things they’ve written. It’s so hard to get it on the page in the first place! But the more you do this, the better it feels, and of course (usually), the better the writing gets.
I’ve read countless books on writing instruction that describe why revision is important, and they usually say something I’ve always considered kind of condescending, something like, “Nobody gets it right the first time.” They mean, I think, that it’s hard to transfer thought to paper. That’s true. We don’t think just in words, after all, but words are all we have to capture impressions, feelings, images, sensory details—all of it. Think how challenging that is.
In addition, though, revision isn’t really about getting it “right.” The premise is wrong here. There isn’t some “right” thought lurking in our brains that we just have to dig and sweat to uncover. Writing doesn’t work like that at all. What happens is, the message grows, expands, shapeshifts, and refines itself in your head as you write. Writing and thinking are symbiotic. Each requires the other and feeds the other.
The other thing I’d do differently is help students understand how much time revision takes. Even if I couldn’t provide them enough time, I’d want them to know this. In school, most of the time, so-called revision is an imitation of the real deal.
Writing a passage (paragraph, story, report, whatever) and then going back to “revise” it is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s revision, yes—but in the sense that having a stalk of celery before a meal is eating. True revision takes multiple readings—and living with a piece for a while, thinking about it while you’re walking, gardening, eating, cleaning, trying to go to sleep. Imagining possibilities, asking “What if?” kinds of questions: What if Rufus ran away from home? What if he were killed—or almost killed? What if someone rescued him? What if he didn’t go back—but decided to live with his rescuer?
The logistics and practicalities of the classroom (or virtual classroom, these days) make it hard to give students weeks or months to “live with” and work on a single piece of writing. But they could watch us go through a single piece. We could share updates with them, ask them to be a writing group for us, asking questions and suggesting possibilities. Then they could at least witness revision.
While we’re at it, we could teach students to ask really good questions, the kind that push a narrative forward. The best feedback doesn’t come at the end of the writing but while a writer is working on something. That’s when you can have a real conversation. Revision is sparked by questions like these:
What’s happening with your story? Is it changing? How?
What are you struggling with right now?
What do you do when you can’t think where the plot takes you next?
Are your characters morally good? What makes you think so?
What if you changed the setting—to, say, London? What else would change?
Who do you picture or hear reading this? Could this be an audio book?
Do you have an ending in mind—or do you think the ending will surprise you?
Are you directing the characters? Or do you feel as if they’re making their own decisions?
If this book became a film, how would you cast it?
Too often students think of revision as drudgery. Let’s bring some fun back into it. I must say—and I would tell this to students if I were fortunate enough to have any right now—I had one heck of a good time revising this book. Of course, I made it fun for myself. I kept my revision time to 3-4 hours a day. I sit where I can look out at the trees and sky. I started with a cup of coffee, fresh ground, with almond milk. I played music. For this book, the sound track (and you really should look this up—it’s spectacular) is Hennie Bekker’s African Tapestry. I played it repeatedly. This is the music that takes Rufus over the meadow at sunset and into his new life. It’s the music that leads Asha on her adventure with the Golden Eagle. It’s the music that will forever play in my heart as the theme of revision.
Who Should Read This Book?
Everyone! Ha, ha. Well, that would be lovely, but let’s be realistic.
I’ve never really been partial to reviews that tell you a book is for a certain age—“Recommended for ages 10 to 13.” Who says?
So—while this started in my mind as a book for young readers, I think it’s really a book for anyone of any age who loves cats or treasures friendship or thinks animal friends can do as much as human friends to cheer and emotionally rescue us, especially now.
It’s a warm, friendly, curl up by the fire kind of book. It does reveal the dark side of nature, that’s true, but it also shows the power of love and friendship, which is, I think, its main theme. I came to really like my characters as I wrote about them. I love Asha for her courage, her spirit, her determination to live life on her own terms. If a cat can be a feminist, Asha is such a cat. And I love Rufus for his sensitivity, his openness to new adventures, new experiences, and new friends. His capacity for love is infinite.
Some Thanks Are in Order!
It takes more than one person to build a book.
Steve Peha. I definitely want to thank my writing coach, designer, and publisher, Steve Peha. Steve was the first person to read the book and he immediately encouraged me to finish it and publish it. His enthusiasm was infectious. His comments and questions along the way were invaluable in fleshing out the characters, shaping the plot, and enriching the story with a touch of philosophy, something I wanted it to have.
I don’t want to pass too quickly over the design part of Steve’s contribution, either, because to me, this was a BIG deal. I love square books, and Steve liked the idea of making the book square. I’m inevitably drawn to square books any time I visit a book store. If you buy a copy of my book, see if you don’t love holding a book this size in your hands. It just feels so—right. You’ll also notice how enormous the cat face is on the cover. Can you even look away? Those mesmerizing eyes say this cat has a history. He’s had some adventures and gained some wisdom. He’s someone you ought to know. Well done, Steve.
The inside illustrations fill whole pages also—as they should. They’re frame-worthy and essential elements of the story that need their own space.
I’m also fond of the gold print Steve chose for the title. It’s striking and picks up the gold in Rufus’s eyes.
Look inside and immediately you’ll notice those enormous margins. It’s inviting to open a book that doesn’t bombard you with print. Big margins welcome you. You want to step inside, and you may think to yourself, “This feels good. This is a book I can conquer. It respects readers and wants them to be comfortable.” I hope that’s just how you feel when you read it. Comfortable. Welcome. As if I’d been thinking of you when I wrote it.
Steve Peha, by the way, is a gifted writing consultant and outstanding coach, author of the bestselling book Be a Better Writer (also available on Amazon). You can email him at stevepeha@gmail.com
Jeni Kelleher. Special thanks to my stunningly talented illustrator, Jeni Kelleher. Jeni literally poured her heart and soul into making the characters in the book come alive, and the results are hauntingly beautiful. Rufus is charming as a kitten and gorgeous as an adult. Asha is as mysterious and ominous as she needs to be. Her face at the end of the story, peering out from the dark, is among my favorites.
In the book, I’ve written a brief story of how Jeni and I met. It was fate, kismet, whatever name you wish to put on it. I met Jeni in a coffee shop I’d never visited before, on a day when she just happened to be featuring her art on the coffee shop wall. And just happened to come in. How many coincidences do you need to create good fortune? I cannot believe I found this person who told me that day, “I always begin my paintings with the eyes. Eyes reveal everything.” In my story, eyes are crucial. They tell all there is to know about the characters. I could not possibly have found a better artist. Jeni specializes in animal portraits, and you can reach her at petportraitsbyjeni.com
Darle Fearl, Jeff Hicks, Leila Naka. And now for a few people who won’t expect to be mentioned. As I was writing this book, I “played” several voices in my head, having them read aloud to me. I didn’t have a writing group at the time, so I had to be inventive. The two voices I kept circling back to belonged to my wonderful six-trait buddies and writing cohorts, Darle Fearl and Jeff Hicks. Both are teachers. Jeff is also a writer, and has collaborated with me on countless educational materials published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. But what’s most important here is that they both read with such expression, such sensitivity, that as you’re listening you think, “If I ever do an audio book, I hope you’re the reader!”
Listening to these two masterful readers in my head, even though it wasn’t live, was invaluable in helping me with revision—especially voice, dialogue, and rhythm. If a book doesn’t engage you when you hear it aloud, you sure as heck won’t enjoy reading it silently. I wanted this one to be one you could read aloud to a child, a friend, or just to yourself, and have a rollicking good time doing that. I hope it turned out that way.
And finally, mahalo to my dear friend Leila Naka. Remember that night so long, long ago when we had dinner in Chicago after the boat tour through the city’s memorable architecture? What a day! You kept telling me, “You need to write a book! I love your emails! Write a book!” Should everyone who writes appreciated emails write a book? Beats me. But I decided to believe you, Leila, and give it a shot. So this book is partly your doing. Your voice has been in my head for a long time nudging me along. Thank you for believing. All great teachers are believers. I do so hope you love the result.
Thank you also to my friends who so generously agreed to review the book for me. Your copies are in the mail! You are all so deeply appreciated.
OR, What to Say When You Want to Write a Book Review and Don’t Know What to Say
By Vicki Spandel
I jokingly said to a friend the other day that the first step in writing a book review is to pour yourself a cup of coffee. I was only kidding, of course. The coffee comes later.
The first step in writing a good review is to read the book.
I’m not being a smart aleck here. I’m serious. I’ve actually had people review my books who had not read them. They probably thought I didn’t notice. When you write a book, you get to know it pretty well, so it isn’t hard to tell who’s actually read it and who’s bluffing. But I’m talking about more than flipping pages until you come to the end. Reading a book in a particular way is vital to writing a review that will persuade someone else to read that book. And if your review doesn’t do that, what’s the point? More on this in a moment.
Friends frequently ask me to review their books and it’s not, as you might think, because they think I’ll say nice things. It’s because they think—and they’re right—that I will notice things about their books that they want noticed. And I’ll point them out. That, in a nutshell, is what a good review does.
Here’s my number one tip for writing a good book review: Imagine the book is yours. If you had written it, what would you be hoping like heck someone would notice and write about? Tell us about that. Just as if you were telling someone why they ought to visit Italy or France, or why they simply have to snatch up that wholegrain bread from the local bakery before it’s all gone.
Of course, there are strategies that make some book reviews work better than others—and here are mine.
Read like a critic. Not a critic in the pejorative sense, meaning a person who is constantly looking for what’s wrong. No. Like a film critic. Be analytical. It takes a slightly different mindset to read a book in this way.
Most of us read for pleasure or for information. If a book is nonfiction, we’re looking for answers to specific questions like what it was like to live in Shanghai during the war or what not to do when baking a soufflé. If it’s a thriller or mystery or adventure story, we’re eager to find out what happens next.
Critical reading is different, no matter the genre. Children’s book, cookbook, thriller? Doesn’t matter. You have to think consciously of how the writer is presenting things. You have to pay attention. What do you notice? What stands out? It’s the difference between going to a friend’s house for dinner and looking at a house as a potential buyer. You might casually admire the kitchen or bath or view during that friendly dinner, but if you’re thinking of living there, your mind works differently, more like this: What an enormous kitchen, but will this marble counter top really hold up to spilled wine? I love the tile in this shower—looks easy to clean! Could I turn one of these bedrooms into an office?
Similarly, when you read analytically, you need to ask, Is this touching me? Surprising me with details I wouldn’t even have known to ask about? How come I can’t stop laughing? What’s this writer trying to tell me? Why do I feel such a connection with the main character? Why is it so hard to stop reading? What makes this so easy to follow for someone like me who doesn’t know a lot about WWII history—or elephants or Thai cooking or whatever?
Take notes on what strikes you, moves you. If you do this as you read, it will be easy later to slip a quotation or reference into your review—and that always makes it more authentic. Plus it gives readers a little taste of the real deal.
Write on paper, use a highlighter, or write in the margins if it doesn’t bother you (and assuming of course that you own the book). I like sticky notes because they make it a snap to find passages I want later. You don’t need a thousand—or even a dozen. I try to limit myself to six key passages (which isn’t easy since I could probably mark a hundred if the book is really good), and when writing a review, I usually mention only two or three. What sorts of things are noteworthy?
Look for passages that stand out because of the voice, the detail, the dialogue, the language—or anything that moves you. Extraordinary use of verbs is something I routinely look and listen for.
In this passage from Laura Hillenbrand’s Seabiscuit, the author is describing what is arguably the greatest horse race of all time, the match race between the legendary War Admiral and feisty little Seabiscuit. Who did this runt of a horse think he was anyway, to challenge the big, elegant Triple Crown winner? Notice how Hillenbrand uses verbs to put us right there at the race, to make us not only visualize it, but feel it:
They ripped out of the backstretch and leaned together into the final turn, their strides rising and falling together. The crowds by the rails thickened, their faces a pointillism of colors, the dappling sound of distinct voices now blending into a sustained shout . . . War Admiral was slashing at the air, reaching deeper and deeper into himself . . . The horses strained onward, arcing around the far turn . . . Seabiscuit was looking right at his opponent. War Admiral glared back at him, his eyes wide open. Woolf [the jockey] saw Seabiscuit’s ears flatten to his head and knew . . . One horse was going to crack (273).
They ripped out of the backstretch. The crowds thickened. War Admiral slashed at the air. And one horse was going to crack. Not break, lose, stumble, or fall apart. Crack. These are words used as we’ve not heard them used before. They’re brilliant choices. If I were reviewing this book (as I’ve done verbally, in workshops, dozens of times), this is the standout feature I’d want to emphasize. Hillenbrand isn’t just skilled with verbs. She’s a master. Want to learn to use verbs well and stop relying on adjectives and adverbs? Read Seabiscuit. It’s a whole seminar on letting verbs take the lead.
Every good book is a standout with respect to something—and your job as a reviewer is to find that something. Of course, there may be more than one thing, and by all means, mention as many as you want. Just make sure you find at least one.
Stephen King is famous for scaring the wits out of people. When it comes to creating tension, he’s hard to beat. I’ve read Dolores Claiborne more than once—it’s one of his best. And each time, even though I know what’s going to happen, I’m terrified when Dolores plots her revenge on her evil husband. Will she pull it off? Will she get by with this dastardly plan? When you can have this impact on someone who’s already read the book, for heaven’s sake, you’re pretty damn good at suspense.
Larry McMurtry, for my money, is the champion of dialogue. What makes good dialogue anyway? You love reading it, for one thing. And it has to sound like real people having a real conversation. Not many writers do it well, so if you find one who does, write about it.
In McMurtry’s masterpiece Lonesome Dove, Texas Rangers Woodrow F. Call and Gus McCrae (perhaps my favorite literary character of all time) have an argument about Gus’s addition of a Latin motto to their hand carved wooden business sign—the sign clarifying that at the Hat Creek Cattle Company, they sell horses and cattle, rent horses and rigs, but definitely (for those who can’t read) do NOT rent pigs. Call wants to know what the Latin expression Uva Uvam Vivendo Varia Fit actually signifies, and McCrae tells him simply, “It’s a motto. It just says itself.” To which Call replies that for all McCrae knows, this Latin phrase could be an invitation to rob them. McCrae’s retort is instant: “The first bandit who comes along that can read Latin is welcome to rob us” since he wouldn’t mind an “opportunity to shoot at an educated man” (pp. 90-91). McMurtry is having a good time creating a character with rapid-fire wit and humor, someone so vivid, original, and fun to be around that we regret he only lives in a book.
Do you like learning things? Things you might never have thought to wonder about? In Woodpeckers, my colleague Sneed Collard taught me that when you hear that tap-tap-tap (which just recently returned to our woods this spring), that woodpecker isn’t hunting for food—necessarily. It’s most likely a male telling other males in the area to get lost because this is his territory. Collard packs every one of his books with whimsical but significant tidbits like this. All without sacrificing voice to statistics. Another writer who does this well Sy Montgomery.
In Montgomery’s book Birdology, I learned that hummingbirds are the only birds that can hover. “Like insects and helicopters, hummingbirds can fly backward.” What’s more, they can do somersaults, fly straight up and down, and “stay suspended in the air for up to an hour” (99). And while it occurred to me that beings as intelligent as octopuses could be unique, like dogs or cats or horses, I admit I never thought of this . . .
“Octopuses realize that humans are individuals too. They like some people; they dislike others,” Montgomery tells us in The Soul of an Octopus. Like Birdology, The Soul of an Octopus will change your mind if you think you don’t like nonfiction (p. 9). In reviewing this book, I highlighted not only Montgomery’s impressive first-hand research (dipping her arms into tanks to let Octopuses taste—yes, taste—her), but also her ability to deliver that information with compelling voice.
Pick a FEW standout features and write about those. The preceding section is meant to give you a hint—just a hint—of things I look for. Don’t, for goodness sake, write about everything. Good reviews shouldn’t be books in their own right. Pick two or three features to talk about and call it a day.
Here’s a quick summary of seven things that are good candidates for possible mention—but again, do not write about them all:
Voice: Voice is the quality, more than any other, that keeps us reading. It’s also the quality that tells you whether you’re reading something by Sy Montgomery or Larry McMurtry or Stephen King. It’s the quality that makes you interrupt your spouse, lover, child, friend to say, “Stop what you’re doing! You have to hear this!!”
Please don’t tell me that you simply “couldn’t put it down.” Drop that cliché from your vocabulary. Instead, tell me what you mean by that. Could you really, literally, not set that book down? Did you read in the bathtub? While cooking? Eating? Putting on makeup? Pretending to talk on the phone? While toting your baby in a baby carrier as you vacuumed? Well into the night, long after your husband had pleaded with you to please, please turn out the light? Write that. Write what’s real. I did all those things while reading Lonesome Dove. That’s the power of voice.
Readability: Is it easy to get through the book or just a lot of hard work? Do you have to force yourself to pick it up again because you feel guilty not finishing it—or does it call to you? I just finished The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson and couldn’t help thinking that if my old history books had been written like that, instead of like nightmarish clusters of endless dates and names and generalities I had to slog and hack my way through, history might have been my favorite subject. Larson feeds me more facts in two pages than those old books could cough up cover to cover, and still, I flew through it.
Beginnings and endings: Does the beginning pull you right in? Here’s one that does, from the riveting novel American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins: “One of the very first bullets comes in through the open window above the toilet where Luca is standing” (p. 1). That ought to be enough to get your heart pounding. Trust me, it won’t slow down until the final page.
Does the ending feel right—or is it a big fat let-down? I like endings where things work out, but I knew Charlotte (of Charlotte’s Web fame) had to die. You knew that too, didn’t you? On the other hand, I also wanted Andy Dufresne (Shawshank Redemption) to escape. Didn’t you? Desperately.
Language: Verbs are the lifeblood of any writing, but all quotable phrasing is important. If you highlight it, repeat it, reread it, if you’d put it on a wall plaque, you ought to mention it. I’ve spent a lifetime recommending the books of William Steig because they’re, well, wonderful. Steig never, ever writes down to children. That’s the magic of his books. He uses beautiful language because children, like all of us, love words used well. They may not know all the words, but really now, who wants to read a book where you know all the words? Where’s the fun in that?
My copy of Amos and Boris is nearly in tatters because I read it perhaps fifty times to my own children, then fifty times more to teachers in workshops. The famous story of the mouse and whale who become unlikely friends contains this passage, one of my favorites anywhere: One night, in a phosphorescent sea, he marveled at the sight of some whales spouting luminous water; and later, lying on the deck of his boat gazing at the immense, starry sky, the tiny mouse Amos, a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe, felt thoroughly akin to it all.
This isn’t typical of language we think of reading to small children, but it should be. And that’s a good point to make in a review.
Dialogue: Do the people sound real? Are they flesh and blood? Do they sound different from one another? And for that matter, from anyone else? Imagine yourself cast in a film portraying the character in the book. Would you like to perform this dialogue?
Characters: Characters are vital to fiction—sometimes nonfiction, too. Some of my favorite characters are not human. Karma and Octavia from The Soul of an Octopus might be octopuses, but they have wishes, dreams, fears, and disappointments, like all of us. Octavia is curious. Karma is gentle.
The titular character in Seabiscuit is extraordinarily complex. When we meet him, he barely knows he’s capable of running. He’s stubborn, ornery, depressed, and virtually dysfunctional, clumping around the track “like an egg beater,” but we’re with him every grueling step of the way as a sensitive trainer and jockey turn him into one of the great athletic champions of all time.
Fictional favorites aren’t always human, either. Take Frog and Toad, for instance, from Arnold Lobel’s beloved books. These fellows live simple lives, waiting impatiently for garden seeds to sprout or compiling a to-do list and then forgetting everything on it. In other words, they’re us. And like us, they’re complex. If you think it’s easy to tell deep truths using simple language, try it.
Among my all-time favorite non-human characters is the rabbit Edward Tulane from The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. Edward may be made of fur and china, but as we readers know all too well, he has thoughts and feelings. So, when mischievous boys decide to strip off his beautiful clothes and play catch with him, we’re as horrified as his human companion, Abilene: And Edward sailed naked through the air. Only a moment ago, the rabbit had thought that being naked in front of a shipload of strangers was the worst thing that could happen to him. But he was wrong. It was much worse being tossed, in the same naked state, from the hands of one grubby, laughing boy to another (44).
When you write about a character, tell us what impresses or surprises you, what breaks your heart, what you find disturbing or shocking or inspiring. Tell us what the writer does to make a character like Edward or Octavia seem vibrant and lovable—or what makes others despicable.Do you feel as if you know the character? Know what they’re thinking and feeling? Will you remember him or her in five years? If so, that character is someone you need to tell us about.
Details: Hunt for details as if they were gold nuggets. Detail creates mood, imagery, suspense, setting, voice, and virtually everything else that makes reading worthwhile. This is why, when you’re planning to write a review, you need to slow down. Don’t read so fast you skim right over details. Relish the richness, letting it wash over you like music.
Imagine if Kenneth Greene had started his classic book this way: “The Mole was cleaning his house and by golly, it wasn’t easy.” That is the sort of writing we might call detail-free.
Lucky for us, Greene began The Wind in the Willows like this: The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms (p. 1). Writing that makes our own arms ache makes us want more.
Rick Bragg, one of the great writers of our time, describes his personal family history in a not-to-be-missed memoir called The Best Cook in the World. The central character (in a cast of unforgettable characters) is his mother, Margaret, who has never owned a cookbook (nor written one). He says of her,
She does not own a mixer or a blender. There is a forty-year-old lopsided sifter for her flour, and a hand-cranked can opener. She mixes with a bent fork and a big spoon, smelted, I believe, during the Spanish-American War. We got her a microwave once, which lasted one week before the first nuclear accident and resulting blaze; I am pretty sure she did it on purpose. Her stainless steel refrigerator, which she does not approve of and secretly wishes would die, is shiny, new, complicated, and as hard to operate, she complains, as a rocket ship (16).
You will notice that Bragg’s detail in this paragraph isn’t really about appliances. It’s about Margaret. He could have just said “She’s old-fashioned and persnickety.” It’s far more fun, however, to learn about Margaret through her attitude toward the refrigerator and her fatal assault on the microwave. You know her already, don’t you? Even if you’ve not read the book.
Undoubtedly, you’ll notice many things beyond those I’ve mentioned—e.g., a just-right title, good pacing, chapter length (I favor short ones), effective chapter beginnings and endings, helpful graphics, striking illustrations, fluid sentences—even humble conventions, at which, yes, some writers excel. We could go on and on. This isn’t a complete list because I’d have to write forever to create a complete list, and that’s not the point anyway. The purpose of my list is to get you thinking about what you notice as a reader.
Don’t repeat the plot. Please. That’s not a review—it’s a summary. You can encapsulate the plot, sure. I always want to know if a book is a courtroom drama, mystery, coming of age story, children’s chapter book, collection of nonfiction essays, memoir, or whatever. That’s partly how we all choose things to read. And I want to know a little about the flavor. Is it heart wrenching, dramatic, hilarious? But you can be quick about it. For example, if I were summing up the plot of American Dirt, which author Don Winslow called “a Grapes of Wrath for our times,” I’d say something like this: Lydia and her young son Luca crouch terrified in the tile shower of their home, holding their breath as a drug cartel murders the rest of the family. Within minutes, they will embark on a terrible and death-defying run for their lives. You will be on edge right up to the end, thinking they cannot possibly make it, hoping that somehow they do.
That’s enough. You don’t want to know all the characters they’ll meet along this terrifying journey or all the challenges they’ll have to dig deep to overcome because that’s the joy of reading. Discovery. Good reviews should entice readers without revealing too much.
Be kind. Seriously. I don’t review books I don’t like. I follow the old adage and say nothing.
I just put one down a few days ago because the dialect was beyond me. I couldn’t get into the rhythm. If you’ve ever tried dancing with someone who seemed to be listening to different music altogether, then you’ll appreciate my discomfort. I may give it another go. But I’m not going to write a review that says, “Wow! Talk about horrible dialogue!” Because the problem could well be me, as a reader. Maybe I got in over my dialectical head. And for someone else, this might be an eye opening, engaging book with the most mind-blowing, zaniest dialogue ever.
I’m not saying you must love everything about a book you review. That isn’t even reasonable. What I am saying is that writing is very hard work, so in choosing a book to review, pick one about which you have at least something really supportive and thoughtful to say. Don’t generalize. Don’t tell me it’s good; tell me why. Don’t tell me it’s moving; explain how.
And please, be kind or be quiet. Think of it from the writer’s perspective: If you work that hard and come up with something no one wants to read, maybe you should at least get by with having it ignored, like a bad hair day.
On the other hand, if your hard work yields at least some success, you probably deserve to have that noticed, even if everything didn’t go your way. Nobody gets it all right.
Tell me why I shouldn’t miss this book. This is important. Do you know how many books we have available to us? Some estimates say we have over thirteen million published books in America, with another million added annually. I suspect that’s a gross under-estimate. But even if it isn’t. Whew.
So, I’d like to know why I should read this book you’ve picked out to review. I want it to be more than mildly interesting. It doesn’t have to be my all-time favorite. Realize that you’d already be competing with Lonesome Dove, The Soul of an Octopus, Birdology, American Dirt, The Splendid and the Vile, The Shawshank Redemption, Dolores Claiborne, Frog and Toad, Charlotte’s Web, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, Amos and Boris, The Wind in the Willows, Seabiscuit, The Best Cook in the World, and a hundred others I haven’t mentioned (but that will live forever in my mind—Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café, for example).
Daunting. Therefore, you need to make your choice at least a little earth shattering. I want it to be worth late nights and skipping lunch and holding the book in one hand with my garden hose in the other. Because if it’s not, why are you telling me about it? You should be able to fill in these blanks effortlessly:
What I loved most about this book is __________________ .
You need to read this because ________________________ .
This book made me feel ______________ .
If you read this, you’ll _____________________ .
Pour yourself a really good cup of coffee. Start with whole beans. Grind them yourself. Take in the aroma for a time, both while you’re grinding and while the coffee is perking. Then pour a cup in your favorite mug, have a seat, take that first sip, and write the review you’d want someone to write about your book, the review you’d want to read if you were looking for a book with which to spend some serious time.
It doesn’t need to go on for pages—or even one whole page. But write more than a line or two. Write enough to show you care whether someone else reads a book you took time to read.
And know this: You are going to make some writer’s day. Writers, all of them, write to be read. They hang on your comments, and may even reread or save what you write, so make their time worthwhile. Because, after all, isn’t that the very thing you want from them?
What to Say When You Want to Write a Book Review and Don’t Know What to Say
I jokingly said to a friend the other day that the first step in writing a book review is to pour yourself a cup of coffee. I was only kidding, of course. The coffee comes later.
The first step in writing a good review is to read the book.
I’m not being a smart aleck here. I’m serious. I’ve actually had people review my books who had not read them. They probably thought I didn’t notice. When you write a book, you get to know it pretty well, so it isn’t hard to tell who’s actually read it and who’s bluffing. But I’m talking about more than flipping pages until you come to the end. Reading a book in a particular way is vital to writing a review that will persuade someone else to read that book. And if your review doesn’t do that, what’s the point? More on this in a moment.
Friends frequently ask me to review their books and it’s not, as you might think, because they think I’ll say nice things. It’s because they think—and they’re right—that I will notice things about their books that they want noticed. And I’ll point them out. That, in a nutshell, is what a good review does.
Here’s my number one tip for writing a good book review: Imagine the book is yours. If you had written it, what would you be hoping like heck someone would notice and write about? Tell us about that. Just as if you were telling someone why they ought to visit Italy or France, or why they simply have to snatch up that wholegrain bread from the local bakery before it’s all gone.
Of course, there are strategies that make some book reviews work better than others—and here are seven of mine.
1. Read Like a Critic
Not a critic in the pejorative sense, meaning a person who is constantly looking for what’s wrong. No. Like a film critic. Be analytical. It takes a slightly different mindset to read a book in this way.
Most of us read for pleasure or for information. If a book is nonfiction, we’re looking for answers to specific questions like what it was like to live in Shanghai during the war or what not to do when baking a soufflé. If it’s a thriller or mystery or adventure story, we’re eager to find out what happens next.
Critical reading is different, no matter the genre. Children’s book, cookbook, thriller? Doesn’t matter. You have to think consciously of how the writer is presenting things. You have to pay attention. What do you notice? What stands out? It’s the difference between going to a friend’s house for dinner and looking at a house as a potential buyer. You might casually admire the kitchen or bath or view during that friendly dinner, but if you’re thinking of living there, your mind works differently, more like this: What an enormous kitchen, but will this marble counter top really hold up to spilled wine? I love the tile in this shower—looks easy to clean! Could I turn one of these bedrooms into an office?
Similarly, when you read analytically, you need to ask, Is this touching me? Surprising me with details I wouldn’t even have known to ask about? How come I can’t stop laughing? What’s this writer trying to tell me? Why do I feel such a connection with the main character? Why is it so hard to stop reading? What makes this so easy to follow for someone like me who doesn’t know a lot about WWII history—or elephants or Thai cooking or whatever?
2. Take Notes on What Strikes You, Moves You
If you do this as you read, it will be easy later to slip a quotation or reference into your review—and that always makes it more authentic. Plus it gives readers a little taste of the real deal.
Write on paper, use a highlighter, or write in the margins if it doesn’t bother you (and assuming of course that you own the book). I like sticky notes because they make it a snap to find passages I want later. You don’t need a thousand—or even a dozen. I try to limit myself to six key passages (which isn’t easy since I could probably mark a hundred if the book is really good), and when writing a review, I usually mention only two or three. What sorts of things are noteworthy?
Look for passages that stand out because of the voice, the detail, the dialogue, the language—or anything that moves you. Extraordinary use of verbs is something I routinely look and listen for.
In this passage from Laura Hillenbrand’s Seabiscuit, the author is describing what is arguably the greatest horse race of all time, the match race between the legendary War Admiral and feisty little Seabiscuit. Who did this runt of a horse think he was anyway, to challenge the big, elegant Triple Crown winner? Notice how Hillenbrand uses verbs to put us right there at the race, to make us not only visualize it, but feel it:
They ripped out of the backstretch and leaned together into the final turn, their strides rising and falling together. The crowds by the rails thickened, their faces a pointillism of colors, the dappling sound of distinct voices now blending into a sustained shout . . . War Admiral was slashing at the air, reaching deeper and deeper into himself . . . The horses strained onward, arcing around the far turn . . . Seabiscuit was looking right at his opponent. War Admiral glared back at him, his eyes wide open. Woolf [the jockey] saw Seabiscuit’s ears flatten to his head and knew . . . One horse was going to crack (273).
They ripped out of the backstretch. The crowds thickened. War Admiral slashed at the air. And one horse was going to crack. Not break, lose, stumble, or fall apart. Crack. These are words used as we’ve not heard them used before. They’re brilliant choices. If I were reviewing this book (as I’ve done verbally, in workshops, dozens of times), this is the standout feature I’d want to emphasize. Hillenbrand isn’t just skilled with verbs. She’s a master. Want to learn to use verbs well and stop relying on adjectives and adverbs? Read Seabiscuit. It’s a whole seminar on letting verbs take the lead.
Every good book is a standout with respect to something—and your job as a reviewer is to find that something. Of course, there may be more than one thing, and by all means, mention as many as you want. Just make sure you find at least one.
Stephen King is famous for scaring the wits out of people. When it comes to creating tension, he’s hard to beat. I’ve read Dolores Claiborne more than once—it’s one of his best. And each time, even though I know what’s going to happen, I’m terrified when Dolores plots her revenge on her evil husband. Will she pull it off? Will she get by with this dastardly plan? When you can have this impact on someone who’s already read the book, for heaven’s sake, you’re pretty damn good at suspense.
Larry McMurtry, for my money, is the champion of dialogue. What makes good dialogue anyway? You love reading it, for one thing. And it has to sound like real people having a real conversation. Not many writers do it well, so if you find one who does, write about it.
In McMurtry’s masterpiece Lonesome Dove, Texas Rangers Woodrow F. Call and Gus McCrae (perhaps my favorite literary character of all time) have an argument about Gus’s addition of a Latin motto to their hand carved wooden business sign—the sign clarifying that at the Hat Creek Cattle Company, they sell horses and cattle, rent horses and rigs, but definitely (for those who can’t read) do NOT rent pigs. Call wants to know what the Latin expression Uva Uvam Vivendo Varia Fit actually signifies, and McCrae tells him simply, “It’s a motto. It just says itself.” To which Call replies that for all McCrae knows, this Latin phrase could be an invitation to rob them. McCrae’s retort is instant: “The first bandit who comes along that can read Latin is welcome to rob us” since he wouldn’t mind an “opportunity to shoot at an educated man” (pp. 90-91). McMurtry is having a good time creating a character with rapid-fire wit and humor, someone so vivid, original, and fun to be around that we regret he only lives in a book.
Do you like learning things? Things you might never have thought to wonder about? In Woodpeckers, my colleague Sneed Collard taught me that when you hear that tap-tap-tap (which just recently returned to our woods this spring), that woodpecker isn’t hunting for food—necessarily. It’s most likely a male telling other males in the area to get lost because this is his territory. Collard packs every one of his books with whimsical but significant tidbits like this. All without sacrificing voice to statistics. Another writer who does this well Sy Montgomery.
In Montgomery’s book Birdology, I learned that hummingbirds are the only birds that can hover. “Like insects and helicopters, hummingbirds can fly backward.” What’s more, they can do somersaults, fly straight up and down, and “stay suspended in the air for up to an hour” (99). And while it occurred to me that beings as intelligent as octopuses could be unique, like dogs or cats or horses, I admit I never thought of this . . .
“Octopuses realize that humans are individuals too. They like some people; they dislike others,” Montgomery tells us in The Soul of an Octopus. Like Birdology, The Soul of an Octopus will change your mind if you think you don’t like nonfiction (p. 9). In reviewing this book, I highlighted not only Montgomery’s impressive first-hand research (dipping her arms into tanks to let Octopuses taste—yes, taste—her), but also her ability to deliver that information with compelling voice.
3. Pick a FEW Standout Features and Write About Those
The preceding section is meant to give you a hint—just a hint—of things I look for. Don’t, for goodness sake, write about everything. Good reviews shouldn’t be books in their own right. Pick two or three features to talk about and call it a day.
Here’s a quick summary of seven things that are good candidates for possible mention—but again, do not write about them all:
Voice: Voice is the quality, more than any other, that keeps us reading. It’s also the quality that tells you whether you’re reading something by Sy Montgomery or Larry McMurtry or Stephen King. It’s the quality that makes you interrupt your spouse, lover, child, friend to say, “Stop what you’re doing! You have to hear this!!”
Please don’t tell me that you simply “couldn’t put it down.” Drop that cliché from your vocabulary. Instead, tell me what you mean by that. Could you really, literally, not set that book down? Did you read in the bathtub? While cooking? Eating? Putting on makeup? Pretending to talk on the phone? While toting your baby in a baby carrier as you vacuumed? Well into the night, long after your husband had pleaded with you to please, please turn out the light? Write that. Write what’s real. I did all those things while reading Lonesome Dove. That’s the power of voice.
Readability: Is it easy to get through the book or just a lot of hard work? Do you have to force yourself to pick it up again because you feel guilty not finishing it—or does it call to you? I just finished The Splendid and the Vile by Erik Larson and couldn’t help thinking that if my old history books had been written like that, instead of like nightmarish clusters of endless dates and names and generalities I had to slog and hack my way through, history might have been my favorite subject. Larson feeds me more facts in two pages than those old books could cough up cover to cover, and still, I flew through it.
Beginnings and endings: Does the beginning pull you right in? Here’s one that does, from the riveting novel American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins: “One of the very first bullets comes in through the open window above the toilet where Luca is standing” (p. 1). That ought to be enough to get your heart pounding. Trust me, it won’t slow down until the final page.
Does the ending feel right—or is it a big fat let-down? I like endings where things work out, but I knew Charlotte (of Charlotte’s Web fame) had to die. You knew that too, didn’t you? On the other hand, I also wanted Andy Dufresne (Shawshank Redemption) to escape. Didn’t you? Desperately.
Language: Verbs are the lifeblood of any writing, but all quotable phrasing is important. If you highlight it, repeat it, reread it, if you’d put it on a wall plaque, you ought to mention it. I’ve spent a lifetime recommending the books of William Steig because they’re, well, wonderful. Steig never, ever writes down to children. That’s the magic of his books. He uses beautiful language because children, like all of us, love words used well. They may not know all the words, but really now, who wants to read a book where you know all the words? Where’s the fun in that?
My copy of Amos and Boris is nearly in tatters because I read it perhaps fifty times to my own children, then fifty times more to teachers in workshops. The famous story of the mouse and whale who become unlikely friends contains this passage, one of my favorites anywhere: One night, in a phosphorescent sea, he marveled at the sight of some whales spouting luminous water; and later, lying on the deck of his boat gazing at the immense, starry sky, the tiny mouse Amos, a little speck of a living thing in the vast living universe, felt thoroughly akin to it all.
This isn’t typical of language we think of reading to small children, but it should be. And that’s a good point to make in a review.
Dialogue: Do the people sound real? Are they flesh and blood? Do they sound different from one another? And for that matter, from anyone else? Imagine yourself cast in a film portraying the character in the book. Would you like to perform this dialogue?
Characters: Characters are vital to fiction—sometimes nonfiction, too. Some of my favorite characters are not human. Karma and Octavia from The Soul of an Octopus might be octopuses, but they have wishes, dreams, fears, and disappointments, like all of us. Octavia is curious. Karma is gentle.
The titular character in Seabiscuit is extraordinarily complex. When we meet him, he barely knows he’s capable of running. He’s stubborn, ornery, depressed, and virtually dysfunctional, clumping around the track “like an egg beater,” but we’re with him every grueling step of the way as a sensitive trainer and jockey turn him into one of the great athletic champions of all time.
Fictional favorites aren’t always human, either. Take Frog and Toad, for instance, from Arnold Lobel’s beloved books. These fellows live simple lives, waiting impatiently for garden seeds to sprout or compiling a to-do list and then forgetting everything on it. In other words, they’re us. And like us, they’re complex. If you think it’s easy to tell deep truths using simple language, try it.
Among my all-time favorite non-human characters is the rabbit Edward Tulane from The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. Edward may be made of fur and china, but as we readers know all too well, he has thoughts and feelings. So, when mischievous boys decide to strip off his beautiful clothes and play catch with him, we’re as horrified as his human companion, Abilene: And Edward sailed naked through the air. Only a moment ago, the rabbit had thought that being naked in front of a shipload of strangers was the worst thing that could happen to him. But he was wrong. It was much worse being tossed, in the same naked state, from the hands of one grubby, laughing boy to another (44).
When you write about a character, tell us what impresses or surprises you, what breaks your heart, what you find disturbing or shocking or inspiring. Tell us what the writer does to make a character like Edward or Octavia seem vibrant and lovable—or what makes others despicable.Do you feel as if you know the character? Know what they’re thinking and feeling? Will you remember him or her in five years? If so, that character is someone you need to tell us about.
Details: Hunt for details as if they were gold nuggets. Detail creates mood, imagery, suspense, setting, voice, and virtually everything else that makes reading worthwhile. This is why, when you’re planning to write a review, you need to slow down. Don’t read so fast you skim right over details. Relish the richness, letting it wash over you like music.
Imagine if Kenneth Greene had started his classic book this way: “The Mole was cleaning his house and by golly, it wasn’t easy.” That is the sort of writing we might call detail-free.
Lucky for us, Greene began The Wind in the Willows like this: The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms (p. 1). Writing that makes our own arms ache makes us want more.
Rick Bragg, one of the great writers of our time, describes his personal family history in a not-to-be-missed memoir called The Best Cook in the World. The central character (in a cast of unforgettable characters) is his mother, Margaret, who has never owned a cookbook (nor written one). He says of her,
She does not own a mixer or a blender. There is a forty-year-old lopsided sifter for her flour, and a hand-cranked can opener. She mixes with a bent fork and a big spoon, smelted, I believe, during the Spanish-American War. We got her a microwave once, which lasted one week before the first nuclear accident and resulting blaze; I am pretty sure she did it on purpose. Her stainless steel refrigerator, which she does not approve of and secretly wishes would die, is shiny, new, complicated, and as hard to operate, she complains, as a rocket ship (16).
You will notice that Bragg’s detail in this paragraph isn’t really about appliances. It’s about Margaret. He could have just said “She’s old-fashioned and persnickety.” It’s far more fun, however, to learn about Margaret through her attitude toward the refrigerator and her fatal assault on the microwave. You know her already, don’t you? Even if you’ve not read the book.
Undoubtedly, you’ll notice many things beyond those I’ve mentioned—e.g., a just-right title, good pacing, chapter length (I favor short ones), effective chapter beginnings and endings, helpful graphics, striking illustrations, fluid sentences—even humble conventions, at which, yes, some writers excel. We could go on and on. This isn’t a complete list because I’d have to write forever to create a complete list, and that’s not the point anyway. The purpose of my list is to get you thinking about what you notice as a reader.
4. Don’t Repeat the Plot
Please. That’s not a review—it’s a summary. You can encapsulate the plot, sure. I always want to know if a book is a courtroom drama, mystery, coming of age story, children’s chapter book, collection of nonfiction essays, memoir, or whatever. That’s partly how we all choose things to read. And I want to know a little about the flavor. Is it heart wrenching, dramatic, hilarious? But you can be quick about it. For example, if I were summing up the plot of American Dirt, which author Don Winslow called “a Grapes of Wrath for our times,” I’d say something like this: Lydia and her young son Luca crouch terrified in the tile shower of their home, holding their breath as a drug cartel murders the rest of the family. Within minutes, they will embark on a terrible and death-defying run for their lives. You will be on edge right up to the end, thinking they cannot possibly make it, hoping that somehow they do.
That’s enough. You don’t want to know all the characters they’ll meet along this terrifying journey or all the challenges they’ll have to dig deep to overcome because that’s the joy of reading. Discovery. Good reviews should entice readers without revealing too much.
5. Be Kind
Seriously. I don’t review books I don’t like. I follow the old adage and say nothing.
I just put one down a few days ago because the dialect was beyond me. I couldn’t get into the rhythm. If you’ve ever tried dancing with someone who seemed to be listening to different music altogether, then you’ll appreciate my discomfort. I may give it another go. But I’m not going to write a review that says, “Wow! Talk about horrible dialogue!” Because the problem could well be me, as a reader. Maybe I got in over my dialectical head. And for someone else, this might be an eye opening, engaging book with the most mind-blowing, zaniest dialogue ever.
I’m not saying you must love everything about a book you review. That isn’t even reasonable. What I am saying is that writing is very hard work, so in choosing a book to review, pick one about which you have at least something really supportive and thoughtful to say. Don’t generalize. Don’t tell me it’s good; tell me why. Don’t tell me it’s moving; explain how.
And please, be kind or be quiet. Think of it from the writer’s perspective: If you work that hard and come up with something no one wants to read, maybe you should at least get by with having it ignored, like a bad hair day.
On the other hand, if your hard work yields at least some success, you probably deserve to have that noticed, even if everything didn’t go your way. Nobody gets it all right.
6. Tell Me Why I Shouldn’t Miss This Book
This is important. Do you know how many books we have available to us? Some estimates say we have over thirteen million published books in America, with another million added annually. I suspect that’s a gross under-estimate. But even if it isn’t. Whew.
So, I’d like to know why I should read this book you’ve picked out to review. I want it to be more than mildly interesting. It doesn’t have to be my all-time favorite. Realize that you’d already be competing with Lonesome Dove, The Soul of an Octopus, Birdology, American Dirt, The Splendid and the Vile, The Shawshank Redemption, Dolores Claiborne, Frog and Toad, Charlotte’s Web, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, Amos and Boris, The Wind in the Willows, Seabiscuit, The Best Cook in the World, and a hundred others I haven’t mentioned (but that will live forever in my mind—Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café, for example).
Daunting. Therefore, you need to make your choice at least a little earth shattering. I want it to be worth late nights and skipping lunch and holding the book in one hand with my garden hose in the other. Because if it’s not, why are you telling me about it? You should be able to fill in these blanks effortlessly:
What I loved most about this book is __________________ .
You need to read this because ________________________ .
This book made me feel ______________ .
If you read this, you’ll _____________________ .
7. Pour Yourself a Really Good Cup of Coffee
Start with whole beans. Grind them yourself. Take in the aroma for a time, both while you’re grinding and while the coffee is perking. Then pour a cup in your favorite mug, have a seat, take that first sip, and write the review you’d want someone to write about your book, the review you’d want to read if you were looking for a book with which to spend some serious time.
It doesn’t need to go on for pages—or even one whole page. But write more than a line or two. Write enough to show you care whether someone else reads a book you took time to read.
And know this: You are going to make some writer’s day. Writers, all of them, write to be read. They hang on your comments, and may even reread or save what you write, so make their time worthwhile. Because, after all, isn’t that the very thing you want from them?
Talking Texts: A Teacher’s Guide to Book Clubs Across the Curriculum, written by Lesley Roessing. 2019. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield.
Genre:Teacher resource
Length: 98 pages, excluding Appendix
Levels:For teachers at all grade levels, elementary
through college
Features:Step by step guidelines, numerous charts and
samples to guide teacher preparation, book recommendations, Appendix with handy
reproducible forms, and a must-read Foreword by Lester Laminack
Overview
Did you ever long to guide your students toward a
deep understanding of literature, all the while helping them to love what
they’re reading—indeed, to love reading itself? This book can show you the way.
It’s short enough to devour in an evening, concise
yet information-rich, and easy to follow from introduction to conclusion. It
will show you in ten readable chapters how to set up and manage book clubs in
your classroom—even if you’ve tried it unsuccessfully before, even if you think
it’s too difficult for you, even if the very idea frightens you. You can do
it. If you do (or make that When you do), then you and your students
will discover together how richly rewarding the discussions incited by book
clubs can be. You may never want to teach any other way.
Talking Texts begins at the beginning: What are book clubs anyway? And why should
we include them in our classrooms?
The whole first chapter is designed to make you a
convert, and unless you’re unmoved by the possibility of making students (even
reluctant readers) truly passionate about reading, it’s hard to imagine
Roessing’s arguments not speaking to the teacher within you. If you’re a member
of a book club yourself, you already know how much fun it is to discuss books
with friends, to hear diverse opinions, to uncover truths you hadn’t thought
of, to have someone help you understand all those little details you didn’t quite
get when sitting alone in your living room, and to share the sheer joy of
finding someone else who loves a book as much as you do. Students enjoy these
same experiences. Book clubs turn reading into an adventure.
Let me add that I deeply wish literature had been
taught just this way in the classes I remember from high school and college. As
students, we had almost no opportunity to talk with one another. Teachers were
in charge, they knew the right answers—and more to the point, knew (by some
divine intervention beyond our ken) what questions were most interesting or
important. If we disagreed, we usually did so silently.
With a book club approach, everything about that
long-ago scenario changes:
Book clubs are
student-driven.
Students
choose (from teachers’ numerous, diverse recommendations) their own reading
material.
Students come
up with their own discussion questions.
There are no
right or wrong answers to any question.
Reflection is
integral at every phase of learning.
Students not
only become deeply engaged in what they read, but they learn how to interact in
supportive and productive ways with one another—in short, they learn life
skills transferable not only to college, but to virtually any modern work
environment.
I know. It sounds like a lot to make happen. But
fear not. Lesley Roessing’s incredibly clear, well organized little book will guide
you, step by step. You’ll acquire strategies for—
Setting up
book clubs in your classroom—with plenty of opportunity to do it your own way
Teaching
students the social skills they need to make group work successful (For as you
know well, small-group work isn’t something you can leave to chance)
Choosing books
that speak to students and open their eyes to new kinds of reading
Managing the
incorporation of book clubs into any classroom—even if you’re already doing reading
workshop
Teaching students
to be reflective readers and book club members
Assessing
students formatively by reading their reflections and observing book clubs in action
Implementing
book clubs across the curriculum
You may be thinking, It won’t work for me because
I teach second grade . . . I teach science . . . I teach graduate students who read
textbooks. Thanks to Roessing’s incredible vision and flexibility, she
shows us how to make book clubs work in virtually any classroom situation, no
matter the grade level, subject matter, or type of books (or other readings) that
support the curriculum.
If I had to summarize this book in a few words (As
the cliché goes, what I’d say on an elevator ride), I’d say it’s clear,
thorough, and most impressive of all, clearly based on the author’s extensive
experience working with students, making literature in all its guises accessible
to young readers, and making book clubs work in an impressive array of contexts.
This is more than a book on “talking texts.” It’s a book on teaching reading
using an extraordinary strategy that students love. Ultimately, this is a book on
teaching well period.
Following are five noteworthy thematic threads woven
throughout the text.
Theme
#1: Students need to choose their own books.
Choice is central to student learning. For years, I
have advocated students’ right to select their own writing topics. It is the best
way to inspire writing with voice. Why should reading be different? Would you
join a book club if you had no say whatsoever in what the group would read? I
know I wouldn’t. Choice guarantees personal investment and sustained interest.
Lesley clarifies that teachers take responsibility
for providing a wide variety of texts from which students can make choices.
These can be fiction or nonfiction, books or articles—anything really. This
means, of course, that teachers who plan to incorporate book clubs into their
classrooms must be avid readers themselves so they have a well from which to
draw—and must think about what sort of books will seize and hold their students’
attention. After previewing (through short descriptions) a range of reading
materials, teachers invite students to identify those that interest them most.
Students have a chance to hold the books (or other materials) in their hands,
read book jackets or first pages, and get a feeling for each possible
selection.
Students’ choices help define how the various book
clubs (typically, individual groups of four or five students) are set up. After
listening to teachers’ introductions and examining books firsthand, students list
their top three, give a succinct, specific reason for Choice #1, and turn in their
lists to the teacher, who then assigns groups based on students’ choices and
the teacher’s evaluation of those choices—e.g., “I’ve never read a book in
verse and I’d like to try it” is a better reason than “My friend Emily chose
this book so I want to read it too.” In most cases, students wind up reading
what interests them—and working with others who share that interest.
Theme
#2: Variety matters!
Students in any given class will have diverse
interests and usually exhibit a wide range of reading abilities and
preferences. Offering a variety of texts increases the chances of having at least
one selection that will speak to every student and also heightens the odds of
introducing students to readings they may love, even if they would never have
thought to explore them on their own. Variety can be based on author, reading
level, genre, or a host of other factors.
Format is one important consideration. Prose, verse,
and even picture books (often helpful for ELL students) are all possibilities.
In addition, Lesley points out that many popular books that debuted in prose
format, such as Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak and Walter Dean Myers’s Monster,
are now available in graphic novel format, a strong preference for many
students.
Format can vary group to group. If a class is
exploring a particular topic, say the Holocaust, “one club could be reading a
prose novel, one reading a graphic novel, and a third reading a novel written
in free verse” (9). Still another group could be reading a nonfiction account
or even a series of journalistic articles. Teachers are invited to use their
imaginations in thinking how many different ways there might be to tackle a
given subject, and what might intrigue particular book clubs most.
Theme
#3: Students with diverse interests, at widely varied reading abilities, can
still make this work!
Clearly, having a wide range of readings from which
to choose is an important first step in meeting the needs of any diverse group.
But there are other things to think about. Some students read more slowly than
others. How will they keep up with the ongoing demands of a book club? For one
thing, as Roessing points out, “Slow readers are not necessarily weak readers;
they may be simply more careful or more reflective readers” (8). True. And
clubs that finish their discussions ahead of other groups can spend more time
on independent reading or reflecting. In addition, though, remember that with
book clubs . . .
.
. . students call the shots! They decide
how much to read at a time and even what questions to address when their book
club meets. If you’re serious about teaching thinking skills, you could hardly
think of a strategy more effective than having students come up with their
own questions, rather than simply answering your questions. Our questions,
after all, define what we think is important, and posing good ones can be
challenging.
The best discussion questions cannot be answered
with a simple fact (date or name) or with a yes or no. They—
Have no
correct answer
Require some
expansion or explanation
Allow for
several possible answers, points of view, or perspectives
Make
responders think
Push
responders to review, reread, or analyze a text, seeking support for an
interpretation or point of view (20)
Finally—and this is critical—book club members assist
and encourage one another. Members know they can come to a meeting with
questions about things they did not understand. They can count on peers to help
them make sense of confusing passages or challenging text. Think how comforting
this is for a student who is shy or who struggles with reading. It’s much less
threatening to raise a question within a small group of three or four trusted peers
than in front of a whole class. Students who feel they can raise questions
without being ignored or rejected get far more out of their reading—and actually
begin to enjoy discussing what they read.
Theme #4: Collaborative skills are essential.
If you’re thinking that collaborative skills are essential
to this whole enterprise, you’re dead right. They’re the foundation. Without the
right social skills, book club members may go off-topic, come to meetings
unprepared, or allow one person to dominate a discussion while others remain
silent, wishing fervently that the class period would end.
When book clubs work, by contrast, chatter is
constant, civilized, text-related, productive, and enlightening. Students learn
from one another and cheer each other on. Everyone participates. But this
doesn’t just happen. It has to be taught.
Lesley teaches collaborative skills in a number of
ways. She begins by modeling what she expects, using a “fishbowl” presentation.
She and two other people (e.g., a librarian, teacher, aide, or even another
student) engage in a very real discussion of a text they have all read,
practicing collaborative strategies while other students observe. The fishbowl
presenters take turns commenting or raising questions about the text, remembering
to always make eye contact with the person speaking, piggy back on responses to
extend the discussion, offer supportive comments, and disagree (when necessary)
in an appropriate, courteous manner that fosters new discussion instead of
shutting things down. Students are asked to notice how group members interact, comment
on what they’ve observed—and to critique their own groups later, recording how
they’re doing and what can improve. In this way, groups practice and
consciously improve their social skills throughout the life of the book clubs.
Theme #5: Book club and reading workshop
can work hand in hand—beautifully!
In Talking Texts, Roessing does a masterful
job of showing how book clubs and reading workshop can work hand in hand. This
is important because if you’re already doing reading workshop, you may be
thinking, Oh, no—here comes yet another thing to work in.
Actually, it doesn’t go like that. Think complementary
support. Imagine book clubs as a way to make reading workshop even stronger
and more interesting for students—especially since they become active
participants for a majority of the time. The flow works something like this
(and you can adapt or revise to suit your classroom and curriculum):
The reading workshop opens with a read-aloud by the teacher, something that connects to what students are currently
studying, via topic, author, style, or some literary feature (language,
setting, characterization) the teacher wants to emphasize. The teacher uses
read-aloud time to strengthen vocabulary, teach oral reading strategies, and
share his/her own passion for reading. (5 minutes)
That read-aloud is followed by a brief focus lesson on something like setting, character development, mood, leads or
conclusions, use of words, dialogue, or anything that turns a book (or other
text) into something readers love. Again, the teacher will connect the lesson
to students’ own reading. (5-10 minutes)
Next, book
clubs meet (20-25 minutes) addressing the
focus lesson in their discussion, along with the questions various members have
written down in advance and bring with them to the meeting. This is the book
club members’ chance to not only explore the text at hand, but show off their
collaborative skills by making sure every person present participates. (When is
the last time you had a whole-class discussion in which every student
had an opportunity to speak—and was received with encouragement?)
The class ends with time for reflection, planning for the next book club meeting, and an opportunity to share with other book clubs if time permits. (Whatever
time remains)
Roessing addresses each of these steps so thoroughly
and clearly that you won’t find yourself wondering what to say to students, how
to prepare, or how to transition from one step to the next. Every discussion is
beautifully organized so that you can literally see yourself in your own
classroom, managing book clubs with your students. Maybe you’ll get a response
like this one from a double entry journal written by a student studying “Casey
at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer. Keep in mind that the question
was also posed by a student (39):
Q:Next time Mudville has a game, do you think Casey will be as cocky
and let strikes go by?
A:There really is no hint in the poem about his future behavior, but he
seems to like to control the crowd (“Casey raised his hand”) and he is proud
(“Pride in Casey’s bearing”), so I think he will hit the first one and try to
make it a HR.
[I think so, too.]
The Grand Finale!
Readers wrap up their book club experience with a
collaborative presentation designed to both inform and entice others who have
not read the book. Through this presentation, they demonstrate their knowledge
of the text, but also seek inventive and personal ways of showing what moved
them about a particular piece of writing.
Lesley offers many creative approaches, including
skits based on the book, “I Am” poems written from the point of view of various
characters, and my personal favorite, the book bag presentation. This strategy
calls for the student to fill a bag with items significant to the book’s plot
or theme, or to a particular character, then remove them from the bag one by
one as the audience eagerly looks on, discussing the significance of each.
At the time I was reading Lesley’s book, I had just
finished The Water Dancer, a remarkable work of fiction by Ta-Nehisi
Coates. I wondered, What if I were a student in a book club? I couldn’t
help pondering what I would put in my book bag to describe the central character
Hiram Walker, son of an enslaved mother and plantation owner:
A coin given
to Hiram by his father,
A book Hiram
might have read as a child (thanks to his father’s insistence that he be
educated, albeit in a strangely intense and restrictive fashion),
An earthen
jar, reminder of his mother’s water dancing skills,
A figure of a
race horse, to symbolize Mayhard, Hiram’s drowned brother, who loved betting on
the races,
A replica of
forged identity papers, representing skills that made Hiram invaluable to the
Underground Railroad,
A vial of
water symbolizing Hiram’s magical powers,
A tobacco leaf
to represent Lockless, the plantation where Hiram is forced to “task,” and of
course,
A replica of
his mother’s beautiful shell necklace—which gains significant symbolism at the
end of the book.
It’s not important, of course, to know what items I
might have chosen to present a particular book to an audience. The point is,
when a teacher like Lesley Roessing presents ideas as compelling as those found
in Talking Texts, it’s hard not to join in, if only in your imagination.
Additional Features
Student samples. The book includes many student samples (like the
one shared about “Casey at the Bat”), ideas for creative assessment and
grading, sample charts, reproducible forms for journaling, reflections, book
reviews, presentation assessment rubrics, and much more.
Books that reflect students’ life experiences. Roessing devotes one full chapter to discussing
types of book clubs, including those based on genre, format, theme, author, and
more. She invites educators, when choosing books as potential candidates for
selection, to thoughtfully consider the makeup of their classrooms. It’s
important, Roessing emphasizes, that students find themselves represented in
the literature they read, keeping in mind that many are experiencing trauma
relating to such things as loss, peer relationships, adversity and bullying,
abuse, mental illness, gender identification, self-discovery, and countless
other personal concerns.
Mirrors, maps, and windows. “When reading books that contain these issues,”
Lesley reminds us, “readers have conversations beyond the books, and the books
are employed as mirrors in which readers may see themselves represented and
therefore valued; as maps by which readers learn ways to successfully, and
unsuccessfully navigate life; or as windows through which readers can gain
understanding of and empathy for those they may view as different from
themselves” (68).
The power of conversation . . .
In his beautifully written Foreword, the ever-articulate Lester Laminack draws an analogy that truly helps
us appreciate the power of book clubs (xii):
The power of talk bubbling up naturally among adults
who have seen the same movie is something that most of us have experienced for
ourselves. The talk nudges us to consider other perspectives, to place our
tentative theories and attitudes on hold long enough to listen to the thoughts
of another. The more respect we have for others in these conversations, the
more likely we are to pause, reflect, and reconsider our own initial thinking .
. . It is because of these conversations that we bring more to our next
experience with a movie. And, as a result of these experiences, our
conversations about the next movie are deeper, more insightful, and more robust.
Q
and A
Lesley graciously agreed to answer a
few additional questions that may further expand your insight about the value
of book clubs.
Q: What do students like best about book clubs?
A: Students have told me that the three things they like best about
book clubs are
Hearing
the different perspectives on a discussion point. In a small group reading a
book they chose, all members are more willing to share their ideas even if they
disagree.
Having
the support of their peers. While readers may be hesitant to admit in class that
they didn’t understand something they read or that they have questions, they
feel comfortable getting help from their book club members.
Being
in charge of the discussions and discussing what they found interesting
instead of answering the teacher’s questions.
Q: If it feels to a teacher that book clubs are not working in his/her classroom, what, in your experience, usually accounts for this?
A: If
book clubs are not working in a classroom, it’s usually for one of three
reasons:
Students
have not learned and practiced the social skills necessary for successful
small-group collaboration.
Students
were assigned the reading instead of having some choice in text, even though
the choice might be limited.
Students
are not prepared for book club meetings and discussions. Some readers may need
time in class to read for the next meeting, so I suggestion holding book club
meetings every other day or twice a week and scheduling reading workshop days
for independent reading of the book club text in between meetings. I have also
found it essential for students to prepare some type of reader response notes
to bring to the meeting, whether on response forms, such as those included in Talking
Texts, notes in a reader’s notebook, or annotations in the text or on
sticky notes. It is also important for each student to bring one discussion
question for the club to discuss.
Q: You must need to read 24 hours a day to explore all the books needed to provide students with options! How do you choose which books to explore and how do you find time to do it? How can a teacher get started with this?
I do read quite a lot of books, but I have also found some good
blogs and also reviews on Goodreads to give me ideas. When I taught 8th grade,
I first started book clubs with the books for which I had multiple copies,
books that former teachers had used as whole-class reading—but that would not
be not conducive to theme or topic book clubs. In some schools, librarians
order 4-5 copies of books, and those can be used for book clubs. If there are
multiple teachers in a grade level, they could each read different books and
then collaborate and order together.
More
about Lesley Roessing
Lesley taught middle school
English-language arts and humanities for twenty years before becoming the
founding director of the Coastal Savannah Writing Project and senior lecturer
in the College of Education at Armstrong State University (now Georgia Southern
University). At the university, she taught courses in literacy to pre-service
and in-service teachers.
Her other professional books include—
The Write to Read: Response Journals That Increase Comprehension
Comma Quest: The Rules They Followed—the Sentences They Saved
No More “Us” and “Them”: Classroom
Lessons and Activities to Promote Peer Respect (reviewed previously on Gurus)
Bridging the Gap: Reading Critically and Writing Meaningfully to Get to
the Core
Lesley has facilitated book clubs in
her own high school and middle grade classes and in her undergraduate and
graduate classrooms. In addition, she has introduced book club strategies and
lessons to K-16 educators through workshops, in-services, and conference
presentations. You can contact Lesley at lesleyroessing@gmail.com
For most of my life, I’ve written educational materials and journalistic stories. Then one day I took a break to look out my office window and there, staring up at me, was the most beautiful cat I’d ever seen. Incredibly heavy long-haired coat, green eyes, and a stare that wouldn’t let you go.
Where had he (or she) come from? This was winter, a time when most people who live in my mountainous part of Oregon head to Arizona as fast as their four-wheel drive vehicles can take them. Had someone left this gorgeous creature behind? Before I could get close, the cat vanished as if never there, leaving nothing behind but the image in my head. There had to be a story here. On a whim, I sat down at my keyboard and began writing the tale of a cat with an irresistible urge to explore.
At first, my story writing adventure was mostly for kicks, a
kind of writing therapy, but I had so much fun inventing that I couldn’t stop.
Before I knew what was happening (and with significant encouragement from a
friend—more on this later), I had a book titled No Ordinary Cat.
My little story (which I originally thought would run about
five pages) evolved into a children’s chapter book, primarily aimed at young
readers, though I’m hoping it will gain fans among adults who love cats as much
as I do. It also grew to twenty chapters.
Of course, books aren’t finished when you write the last
line. They take revision—a lot of it. In fact, I worked on this little book off
and on for nearly two years. And during that time, I learned that if you don’t love
revision—and I mean truly love it, all the messiness of adding and chopping and
reworking repeatedly—you shouldn’t even think about writing a book. I do
love it, though, and this book became my passion. So much so that I’m thinking
of doing a sequel.
As I worked on my cat book, I learned other things too, some
of which echo writing wisdom that applies to any writing. Storytelling, however—as
I would discover—has its own little nuances.
Here are some thoughts you may find helpful as a writer or
teacher of writing.
My 9 Tips
Tip 1: Don’t
lock in your message—let it “bubble up” as you write.
Ever see a movie that
just doesn’t seem to go anywhere? Watching it is torture. The plot wanders
aimlessly, and all you can think is, Will this ever end?
I certainly didn’t
want anyone feeling like that about my book. I could avoid this, I thought, by
having a clear main idea, a message, a point to make. I was sort of right. The
part I didn’t get right was feeling I had to pinpoint my main idea with laser
precision before I’d even typed my lead. What I learned as I wrote was that my
message was redefining itself with every added chapter and character and new
situation. This, I learned, is part of the joy of writing fiction. And it is
very different from writing a report, summary, how-to book, or any other
nonfiction.
When I started
this book, my core theme was that cats are essentially wild animals, even when
domesticated, and guided by that wildness, are driven to explore despite any
danger that poses for them. That’s still an integral part of the story, but it’s
no longer the main theme.
The central idea in
my final draft is that friendship has healing powers. It is not only life
changing, it can be life saving. That’s a big leap, and it took quite a lot of
revision (plus a whole raft of new characters) to get there.
Try this in a
conference if you have a student whose writing (fiction or nonfiction) seems to
meander. Ask them to define in one sentence what the main message of the piece
is. If they can do that, revision will be far easier, and will truly make the
writing better as opposed to just changing it for the sake of change.
Don’t forget,
though, to also ask, Do you find your main idea or message changing as you
write? Are you finding you have more to say than you thought—including things you
didn’t anticipate? It may not occur to young writers that this can happen,
given how hard we’ve hammered home that “Have a main idea” message. It hadn’t
occurred to me, but once I got comfortable with it, stopped fighting it and
allowed it to happen, I realized how much better writing can be when you let
your message evolve, expand, and speak for itself.
Tip 2: Let your characters help you figure out the plot.
The hardest part
of writing fiction, I’d always thought, was figuring out the plot. Did I lay it
out in a flow chart titled “Plot”? List the main events? What??!!
The solution—now
so obvious—just hadn’t come to me: namely, that in much the way our lives are
extensions of ourselves, plot is an extension of a book’s characters. Think of
Ahab fixated on that whale, Gatsby with his green light, Holden with the little
kids, Winnie loving honey and Piglet, Charlotte loving Wilbur.
I started with a
general idea—a cat who longed for adventure and set out to explore a wilderness
he wasn’t prepared to survive. That’s a start, all right, but it’s hard to make
a whole book out of it. My biggest problem? I couldn’t envision how the book
would end. I needed that little cat to show me.
As my characters
evolved, Rufus, the main character, showed himself to be driven, almost
obsessed, by curiosity. Recognizing and respecting that, I let him follow his
instincts in every situation. He would wish himself (wisely or not) away from
home and out into a wilderness he knew nothing about, he would let himself be
lured down a path that would inevitably lead to danger, he would make friends
with strangers. What occurred as a result of these decisions on his part became
my plot. But I never felt I was making the decisions for him. They came out of
who he was—or who he was gradually becoming.
You’ll hear
fiction writers say their characters “talk” to them. This is real. It happens.
You don’t hear voices exactly. It’s not some Joan of Arc thing. It’s more like
hearing friends talk in your head, advising you to hey, go ahead and take that
trip, buy that house you know you love, stop working so hard, cut your hair, do
more yoga.
Characters, as
you develop them, become just as vivid and real as those friends who surf your
mind waves. You can’t write dialogue that doesn’t sound like them or dump them
into situations they simply would never be caught in. Try it and they object,
loud and clear.
Getting to know
your characters makes writing more fun and less predictable. You can ask them, Would
you take a risk to get what you want? Would you risk your life? What do you
care about most? What if you can’t get it? Who or what stands in your way? What
are you going to do about that? Their answers lead to an ending that works
because it feels right. It fits them, and it’s what might actually happen—with a
few twists and turns of fate thrown in, of course.
Try putting your
characters at the center of things, and let the plot swirl around their wishes,
fears, hopes, and decisions—good or bad. If you’re surprised at how things
shake out, you’re probably doing something right.
Tip 3: Do your research.
Research isn’t
just for nonfiction reports or books. It’s for all writing.
You cannot write
with confidence about anything you don’t know well, and this is just as true for
fiction as nonfiction. For my book, I researched not only cats, both domestic
and feral, but other creatures as well. For example, in one scene, a cat is
being hunted by a golden eagle.
Golden eagles are
revered by many Native Americans for their courage and hunting prowess. This
much I knew—so I chose the golden for that very reason. They’re formidable, and
if you happen to be one of the animals they hunt, they’re terrifying. That’s
what I wanted, the thrill that only comes with that level of risk. I wanted to
push my cat character to the absolute limit of what she could do—but I wasn’t
ready to write the scene by any means.
I didn’t know for sure what golden eagles weighed, what they ate, where they built their nests, how fast they could fly, how strong they were, how much they could carry, or a hundred other things. The book doesn’t include all these details, naturally. It’s a story, not a report. But the point is, knowing is what matters. You cannot write a scene in which a golden eagle attacks another animal without knowing how that might play out, who would most likely win, and how or why. It won’t be authentic. Readers won’t trust it. And that trust is something you cannot afford to lose.
Even when
students are writing stories about things they believe they know well—their
pets, their home town, school, family, video games, a favorite sport—encourage them
to do at least a little research. If they uncover even one bit of new
information they can weave into the story, I can almost guarantee it will be stronger.
Tip 4: Read everything aloud—more than once.
You’ve undoubtedly
heard this sage advice many times. But—do you actually do it when you write? Do
your students? Reading aloud helps you know whether—
Your writing simply fills space or seizes
readers by the lapels
Your dialogue sounds natural or stiff and forced
Your text is easy to read without a lot of
rehearsal
Your words are likely to evoke images, memories,
or strong emotional responses
Sentences vary or create a monotonous rhythm that
puts readers to sleep
Your lead is so strong it might make someone buy
your book
Your ending is a big fat let-down—or enough to
make readers wish for a sequel
I read at least a
portion of my book aloud every day as I was working on it. When you read aloud,
you can’t skip over sections. You can’t ignore the bumpy parts. You discover
missing or repeated words, passages that simply add nothing, dialogue that
sounds like a badly written Soap. Reading aloud keeps you honest. But I learned
another trick, too.
This may sound a
bit strange, but it works. I “auditioned” various people to read aloud to me,
and yes, I could hear their voices in my head—quite clearly, in fact. By the
way, I got this idea from my colleague and co-author (Teaching Nonfiction
Revision) Sneed Collard, who nearly always works with a writing group. Group
members take turns reading one another’s work aloud so the writer can listen to
his or her words in someone else’s voice. I’d love to hear my writing in
just that way, but unfortunately, I don’t have a writing group right now, so I
had to improvise.
Award winning author and photographer Sneed Collard, who has written countless fiction and nonfiction books for young readers of all ages.
At first, I imagined
two friends read alternating chapters: Jeff Hicks (former Gurus co-author) and
Darle Fearl (one of the best writing teachers ever). I’ve heard them both read
aloud numerous times. They read with expression, and know how to hold an
audience’s attention. They can switch on a dime from light and humorous to
somber or melancholy. They know how to pause occasionally, creating a silence as
powerful as any words. Over time, I discovered which chapters fit Jeff or Darle
best, so I always had the voice I wanted for every scene, and their “readings”
influenced my revision enormously, particularly with respect to voice, sentence
rhythm, and dialogue. Ultimately, though, I wanted to hear the whole thing in a
single voice other than my own.
I had some famous
voices in mind—Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon, Tommy Lee Jones, Peter Coyote, Sean
Connery, and Tom Hanks. These are distinctive voices, but I mainly chose them
because they’re voices I’ve heard countless times, so I figured conjuring them
up in my head might not be too difficult—and I was right.
In order to make
a choice, I “listened” to their voices on the first two paragraphs, and probably
would have kept this imaginary try-out going for a while just because it was so
much fun, but when I got to Tom Hanks, I knew I couldn’t do better. Tom can be
tender and loving, serious, aggressive, bewildered, overwhelmed, mischievous, humble,
sarcastic, comedic—or whatever the situation calls for. He has, in short, just
the kind of flexibility good oral readers need. And because I’ve seen and heard
him in many films, I had no trouble imagining how it might sound if he read No
Ordinary Cat aloud.
Reality check: As
you might suspect, I could not afford to hire Tom Hanks to actually
create an audio version of my book. If only! But imagining how this
might sound was not only entertaining, it was helpful in revising, especially
when it came to dialogue.
I have to think
that kids would also have fun doing this—choosing a voice to “read” their work
aloud, if only in their imaginations. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying this
can take the place of doing your own reading and having someone from a
writing group read your work aloud to you. Not at all. Students need to do both
those things. But I am saying that it’s an enjoyable alternative and one that
adds a new dimension to how you hear your own work. Consider how much fun
students might have discussing which voice they had chosen and why.
Yes, you still need that writing group–even with Tom’s voice in your head.
Tip 5: Leave it alone (for more than a day).
Every time I felt I
was “finished” revising (and I was always happy with what I’d written), I’d
leave the manuscript for a few days, then return to find a hundred things that
cried out for change. How had I missed them?
This isn’t unusual.
It happens, I think, to anyone who works on a single document for an extended period.
You just can’t get to what you really want to say with one round of revision,
any more than a sculptor can transform marble into a work of art with one stroke
of the chisel.
A book lives in your
head the whole time you work on it, and my husband quickly figured out that
when I was staring out the window, I was “writing.” Thoughts and words and
phrases cycled through my head endlessly. Nevertheless, I needed that time away
from the keyboard to process things so I could make better choices when I dove
in again. Writing doesn’t happen quickly. Nor should it.
One reason revision
is so difficult to teach in school is that we just don’t have the time
required. It’s impossible to write well without revising—more than once. But
how is that supposed to work in the real world? Students have deadlines.
Teachers want to see their students’ work on a regular basis so they can track
progress and head off problems. They also want students to write on multiple
subjects. All of this is understandable, and all of it gets in the way of
making time for revision.
It’s unfortunate that
students never know how satisfying it is to stick with a piece of writing for a
while, to return to it, reflect on it, and revise it many times until it turns
into something you love. It’s not just the piece of writing that changes when
this happens. It’s the writer. Not only do you discover more ways to revise and
more little things you can do to bring out meaning, but you simply get faster,
more flexible and adept, more daring—and more capable of solving writing
problems. And solving problems is really what revision’s about.
Any piece of writing
can improve markedly if the writer leaves a draft for two, three, or even more
days before returning to revise with new eyes. Let students do this regularly.
But consider trying this, too: Have students identify one piece to work
on periodically through the course of a semester or even a whole year. Those
who take time to do this will be amazed by how much the writing changes and by
how much more in control they feel as revisers.
Tip 6: Create a special, separate file for problem passages.
Sometimes it’s really
hard to know exactly how you want to say something. You revise—maybe removing
some words and adding others—then revise again. Problem is, now you no longer
have your original to look at. And in spite of all your brilliant changes, maybe
that was the best version! Grrrrrrrrr!
In the computer age, it’s simple to revise, but because changes automatically disappear, often difficult to make comparisons. Here’s another handy trick I learned from my co-author Sneed Collard–one that was invaluable in writing this most recent book.
When I cannot quite
make up my mind about a passage, I copy the whole thing to a new blank page, then
write one or two new possible revisions right beneath it. I give this new file
a name and save it. That way, I can wait a day or two, come back, analyze and
compare all options with a clear head. Everything’s right there in front of me,
nothing’s lost. Here’s one short example.
In an early chapter
of No Ordinary Cat, the main character, Rufus, approaches a pair of
newly nested geese, who resent his intrusion. Rufus, who’s lived in a house all
his life, has no idea what geese even are, so cannot recognize the danger he’s
in. Here are several introductions to this scene. Being able to look at them all
together made it easier to choose the one I liked. See which version you like
best:
Rufus smelled the geese, but the scent
was new to him, so he was more intrigued than afraid. The geese also smelled
Rufus, and the dreaded stench of cat—instantly identifiable—had them bracing
for a fight.
Rufus smelled the geese, but the scent
was new to him, so he was more intrigued than afraid. For the geese, there was
no mistaking the dreaded stench of cat. They braced for a fight.
Rufus smelled the geese, but the scent
was new to him, so he was more intrigued than afraid. As he crept closer, the
geese found themselves awash in the dreaded stench of cat—and they braced for a
fight.
Don’t take the old expression “silly goose” too literally. These guys are scrappers.
Tip 7: Remember
that little things, like repetition, make a big difference.
Do you have some
favorite words? Yes, you do—even if you’re unaware of it. We all do. I just
love the word just, and it just slips into my writing way too often.
This habit is just a whole lot harder to break than you might think.
When you write
something two or three pages long, it’s relatively simple to avoid repetition
because repeated words are so easy to spot. But what happens when you write a
book?
It’s all but
impossible to recall every repetition once you’ve written more than, say, ten
pages. Wait a minute, though. Is repetition in a long document really such a big
problem? Maybe the reader won’t even notice.
Maybe not. A little
word like just might slip by undetected. But strong verbs like launch,
slink, or zoom tend to stick in readers’ minds. When they pop up too
often, it’s as if the writer ran out of things to say or hadn’t even troubled
to reread or revise. If the writer doesn’t care, why should the reader?
Luckily, word processing
offers an invaluable aid called “Navigation” that allows you to check how many
times a particular word, part of a word, or phrase appears in a document. I
used this daily. Sometimes, I admit, I was shocked to see how often I had used
a word like, say, leap. Some of those repetitions had to go.
Now leap is a
word with numerous synonyms: bound, jump, dive, spring, hurdle, vault, surge,
and so on. The thing is, you cannot just grab one of these handy dandy synonyms
and write on. They seem to all mean the same thing, but they don’t. Not really.
A mouse, for
example, can jump but cannot really bound. That would be an unusually large
mouse with extraordinary legs. A wave can surge onto the shore, but not hurdle.
An eagle dives all the time when hunting, but doesn’t bound or spring or vault—unless
it’s caged and its legs are tethered. Word choice demands that you visualize
what you’re writing, making sure that you say precisely what you mean—not kind
of what you sort of mean. This is especially critical in fiction because
stories require so much description, characterization, action, and sensory
detail. By the way, you can’t always get by merely exchanging one word for
another. Often, I would wind up rewriting a sentence so I didn’t need the
repeated word or a synonym. Or I’d cut that sentence altogether.
Vaulting waves? Pouncing waves? Hurdling waves? How about . . . surging waves?
Minimizing
repetition takes more than just looking at individual words, though. You also
need to look for patterns. I routinely looked through each paragraph to see if
I’d started and ended sentences in a variety of ways.
Look down my recent paragraphs from the post you’re reading and you’ll see these beginnings–all different:
Do
you have . . .
When
you write . . .
Maybe
not . . .
Luckily
. . .
Now
leap is a word . . .
A
mouse, for example . . .
Minimizing
repetition . . .
You probably didn’t notice these differences as you were reading. But if all my paragraphs had started the same way, you would most definitely have noticed—and you might have thought, “What gives? Is she asleep?” Repetition is only one example in writing where something small can irritate readers.
Something I learned from
writing many action scenes is that as writers, we all have favorite structures,
just as we have favorite words. I tend to like participles—not consciously
(“Ooh, here comes a participle!”). It’s just how my writing mind works:
Watching
the hawk’s every move, she shimmied up the tree.
To my ear, that’s
better than this:
She
watched the hawk’s every move as she shimmied up the tree.
Admittedly, there’s not a lot of difference. But the second option makes the cat sound relaxed, as if taking her time, even though she’s supposedly shimmying. It also makes it sound as if this watching and shimmying is in the past. The first sentence makes the cat seem more alert—as she needs to be in this scene. It’s also happening right now, so the reader is thrust into the action. So far so good. The problem arises when I use too many participles together:
Watching
the hawk’s every move, she shimmed up the tree. Eyeing her prey, the
hawk moved in.
Overdoing anything kills impact. So have students look for repeated structures. This activity also helps them become aware of the many ways sentences can begin. You can also have students choose one sentence to write in multiple ways. A sort of stretching activity for the mind.
And you, or your
students, might list the first words of each paragraph within a page or two,
asking, Are the beginnings different in both wording and structure? If
not, you’ve got one small thing to revise that will have an enormous effect on
voice and fluency. Speaking of which . . .
Tip 8: Trust the 6 traits.
People have often
asked me, Do YOU use the 6 traits when you write or revise? Well,
wouldn’t it be odd if I didn’t? But here’s the thing: Everyone does. You
can’t help it because the traits are nothing more than the qualities that make
writing work—clear ideas, easy-to-follow yet occasionally surprising
organization, voice, and more.
However, I
probably don’t use them in the way you imagine.
I know of
teachers who’ve had students memorize rubrics. That’s a total waste of time.
I don’t know them by heart and I helped write them. I don’t keep a rubric by my
elbow as I revise, either—nor should you.
The point of the
traits is not—never has been—rubrics. The point of the traits is . . .
concepts. Once students understand, really get, what it means to have
clear ideas, compelling voice, word choice that stirs readers, or fluency that
enhances the whole reading experience, they have no further need for rubrics. To
be of any value, the traits need to reside in your head—expressed in your own
words.
Moreover, I don’t
consciously go through these traits one by one as I revise. How tedious would
that be? But I do watch and listen for things like this as I revise:
Am I boring or confusing my readers? Or showing
them something they weren’t expecting? Are they still with me—or falling
asleep? (Ideas)
Do I have enough detail, the right
detail—and no mind-crushing overload of sensory details? (Ideas)
Did I start where the story begins? Or write two
pages of gobbledygook before getting to the heart of the matter? (Organization)
Am I rushing readers through this story?
Trudging along? Moving at a good pace so something important happens in every
scene? (Organization)
Are readers asking, “How the heck did we get
here?” or “Whatever happened to so-and-so?” or am I picking up loose ends and
making needed connections? (Organization)
Does the conclusion pack some punch? Is it too
predictable? Did this story really end two pages ago? (Organization)
Does the voice sound like me? Is it honest? And
is it the voice I want? (Voice)
Do my words ring true? Do they come as close to
the image or impression or message in my head as I can possibly come? (Word choice)
Is this easy to read aloud—and do I love the
sound of it? (Sentence fluency)
This book is putting me right to sleep . . . I think it’s the repetition . . .
I don’t have a
checklist or chart of any kind because these concepts are just part of how I
think as a writer. They’re probably part of your thinking, too. But again, you need
to think of them in your own words, your own voice. That’s how you want
things to work for students. A checklist is never part of you—and you want
revision to be part of you.
Think of it this way. If you were picking out a car (or shoes or a dog or anything), you’d have certain things you’d look for, right? You know what they are. You don’t carry a rubric with you to the car dealership because—well, why would you? You don’t suddenly forget that style or technology or price or performance or color matter to you. The 6 traits are just like that. They’re all about what matters.
Hm, puppy traits . . . let’s see . . . cute as the dickens, friendly to a fault, cuddly and affectionate, looks me in the eye, clearly plain as day wants to come HOME with me!
Tip 9: Remember—it’s
never finished.
How do you know when
you’re done revising? Good question! And the answer is more complicated than
“It sounds good” or “My writing group likes it” or “I revised it once—and
that’s enough!”
For me, the feeling
is akin to trying on new shoes and finally finding ones that feel great. It’s a
relief. I know these are the shoes that will make my feet happy. They look
terrific, they feel comfortable, I’m not going to return them, and I’ll still
like them next month when I take that long hike.
Happy feet, happy hiker.
At the same time,
there is no perfect shoe, and no perfect piece of writing. Every time I return
to a piece of writing—any piece—I find something I’d like to change. Writers
have, I think, a built-in editorial instinct that just operates this way. Heck,
I revise books I’m reading, too—in my head. I don’t write on them. But still.
It’s just what writers do. They can’t help it.
“No, no, no . . . let me just tweak this a wee bit . . . “
While working on my
book, I’d go through my manuscript twice a day, usually making more revisions
on the second pass. Finally, one day, I found myself not changing much at all. I
was shortening an occasional sentence, changing a word here or there—and then,
often as not, changing it back. But really, if I’m being honest, these changes
were not improvements. They were making the document different but not
necessarily better. Not more dramatic, more readable, more compelling. Change
for the sake of change is not revision. It’s tinkering. When revision devolves
into tinkering, it is time to stop.
That doesn’t mean the
document is “finished.” There’s always something. Always. But unless I want to
spend my whole life working on one piece of writing (and I don’t), I need to
move on. I rationalize it this way (and it’s a good way, I think):
Whatever lessons I
learn from future readings I can apply to writing I do down the road.
Adopt this
philosophy. Think ahead—to all that writing waiting to be done in your future.
Have your students do the same. Meanwhile, to define a reasonable point at
which to stop, pay attention to the kinds of revisions you are doing. As
long as you are—
Rethinking ideas,
Building in a surprise,
Including details you didn’t think of before,
Making connections clear,
Creating a new character,
Revamping or adding dialogue,
Hacking off parts you don’t need or like,
Coming up with better words, phrases, or even
whole paragraphs,
Reordering sections,
Writing a whole new beginning,
Writing a whole new ending,
Writing from a different perspective,
Restructuring sentences,
Changing the voice or tone, or
Condensing . . .
You are doing
significant and important revision. Keep on keeping on. But once you find
yourself—
Agonizing over individual words for too long,
Rewriting sentences with no appreciable change
in meaning, sound, tone, or rhythm,
Tinkering endlessly with punctuation (Dash?
Ellipses? Comma?),
Or worst of all,
Making changes you wind up reversing the very next
day,
you are probably tweaking, not revising.
Stop. Hit reset. Time to write something new.
Before I go, let me extend not only my thanks but a long and enthusiastic virtual round of applause to my writing coach, developmental editor, and publication coordinator, Steve Peha (author of the award-winning Be a Better Writer). Without Steve’s unwavering encouragement and expert advice, my book might have remained in neutral for years to come. And I would never have enjoyed the learning experience and great fun I’ve had reworking it. Thank you, Steve! (Hope you’re up for a sequel!)
Steve Peha: Writer, developmental editor and writing coach, award winning author, and founder of Teaching That Makes Sense.
Stay in touch for
more details on No Ordinary Cat, tentatively scheduled for release in spring
of 2020. I’ll preview it then in all its glory, with illustrations by the
incredibly talented Jeni Kelleher. Meanwhile, thank you for stopping by—and
Happy Fall.
Assessing writing is one of the most difficult things we do, mostly because it’s so personal—on both sides. It’s hard to determine what’s true or important about a given piece of writing. And it’s extremely difficult to give good writing advice that makes a difference without hurting feelings. With so much at stake, it’s critical to get it right. How on earth do we do that? Following are a few thoughts.
Remember that writing
is a gift. Writers write for one main reason—to be read. No matter what
assessment approach you take, remember this: Your students are waiting for your
response. They’re hoping you’ll find something to like. Something. Anything. Even the struggling writers hope. And
if you don’t, what’s their motivation to write more?
In my years of working with teachers, I must have been asked
this question a thousand times: How do
you get kids to want to write? The answer is simple, and it’s right in
front of us—or more accurately, right within us. Be a good audience. Sound too
easy? There’s nothing easy about it. To be a good audience you need to be
open-minded, perceptive, enthusiastic, engaged, and so eager to read the next
piece it’s like you’re standing with outstretched arms to receive it. This is
something you cannot fake. If you look on each piece of writing as a gift,
you’re already doing the most important thing any writing teacher can do. And
if you’re not, almost nothing else you do will help.
Admit that “the
truth” is a myth. In a classroom, unfortunately, students are usually
writing for a one-person audience. They get one shot to make or break it. Sadly,
students don’t always realize that no matter how well-read and experienced a
teacher may be, no single response can never be representative of how a broader
audience might react. This is why author and teacher Peter Elbow reminds us
that the “truth” about any piece of writing is very big, and lies in the combined
multiple responses of a whole community
of writers.
Any subjective assessment must be taken with, as Mark Twain
might have said, a few tons of salt. Let students know that although your
assessment of their writing will always be as fair and honest as you can make
it, other readers might respond differently.
I am from . . .
Every professional writer out there knows this well. Most
have had their work rejected repeatedly before finally getting something
published, then proving the critics wrong as the public devours every word. To
see some hilarious rejection notes, look up “17 Famous Authors and Their
Rejections” published by Mental Floss: http://mentalfloss.com/article/91169/16-famous-authors-and-their-rejections.
This is my favorite from that collection: “You’d have a decent book if you’d get rid of that Gatsby character.”
Like all writers, students need responses from more than one
person. Widen the audience when you can. Have students share writing within
peer groups. Partner with another class. Find pen pals. Do school-wide drama or
poetry readings. And encourage students to write for community outlets, such as
a school or town newspaper.
Tell students what
you want. Clarity is essential. Whatever your assessment approach—points,
scores, grades, comments—explain it in words students can understand. Let them
know what you’re looking for, and what changes the game for you. Read aloud from
your favorite authors often, daily if possible, and talk about why they move
you. Do you like humor? Total honesty? Vivid imagery? Mystery? Striking verbs?
Off-beat characters? Realistic dialogue? Poetic language? Unexpected details? Good
research? An ending you can’t anticipate? Whatever your preferences, back them
up with examples.
I’ve always loved six-trait writing because written criteria
make it crystal clear what a reviewer is looking for. Without that clarity,
students are guessing what you want. That’s not fair. You don’t need to use the
six traits to make your wishes transparent, though; share your own criteria,
whatever they may be. And just because you put them in writing, that’s no sign
they’re final. You have the option—indeed, the obligation—to revise them as you
learn more about what you value. Values evolve for everyone who reads because
reading expands and refines our preferences. Reading is how we teach ourselves
to write.
Whatever you do, don’t fall into the “I’ll know it when I
see it” trap. Everyone feels that way, and this old platitude provides a
convenient excuse for not examining our beliefs, never daring to make them
visible. Make no mistake: Defining what makes writing work is very hard, and
very personal. What moves me may not touch your soul at all. That doesn’t let
either one of us off the hook. “What constitutes good writing?” is a question
that has no final or “correct” answer, and that’s why we need to keep asking it
forever.
Honor the sacred rule
of assessment. Finally, we have to remember the number one rule of good
assessment—any assessment anywhere: Is it
helpful to the person being assessed? If the answer is no (which it often
is), we have to find another way. Good writing assessment always, without
exception, gives the writer information
or strategies she can use the very next time she writes. Perhaps forever. Isn’t
that a lot to ask? Not really. That’s actually the minimum we should expect.
8 Things That Make a Difference
Following
are eight things I’ve learned through the years about assessing writing well at
the classroom level, whether you’re putting scores or grades on papers, writing
comments, holding conferences, or all of these things together.
Don’t
feel compelled to comment on everything.
It’s overwhelming and exhausting. You don’t want to write
that much, and no one wants to read it—least of all the writer. Especially
given how unlikely it is that ALL your comments will be positive.
Start by getting grounded. Read the piece once to get it in
your head, no pen or pencil in hand—yet. What’s the main message? What’s the
mood? What touches you? What feels unfinished? What’s most striking? What’s
missing? Ask yourself what the writer needs to keep on doing or might do
differently. Then go through the piece again, commenting on those stand-out parts,
always focusing first on what’s
working well—and then perhaps
offering a suggestion for something to try. Coach a writer the way you’d coach
a marathon runner at the halfway mark.
Focus more on the writer than on the
writing.
Whether a given piece of writing winds up as perfect as you
can make it is actually of no consequence whatsoever. This is hard for some of
us to come to grips with. We’re so eager to show off what good proofreaders we
are and how NOTHING escapes our sharp editorial eyes. We respond to writing as
if we were preparing a piece for publication. Unless (and this is rare) the
writer shares your enthusiasm for that effort, it’s a horrible waste of
precious teacher time and energy. So—don’t get roped into being an editor for
your students.
Will you see a lot of things you would do differently? Or
better? Almost certainly. Should you point them all out? No. If you do, trust
me, you will be writing notes to yourself.
Instead, ask yourself, What is this
writer, this student, this person doing that I want to encourage?What would be the one thing he or she could
try that would make the biggest difference down the road?
Put conventions in their place.
Too often I’ve seen the stumbling block conventions can create
for a teacher/reviewer who simply cannot look beyond them. Details lie
flattened under misspelled words. Voice and word choice are lost in the weed
patch of faulty punctuation. Fluency is choked by grammatical errors. Don’t let
conventional errors distract you.
Respond to the message first. Read the piece aloud as if it
were picture perfect and ask yourself what you hear, what you picture, what you
learn or feel. Occasionally if possible, ask a friend to read a conventionally
challenging piece aloud to you; that
way, you won’t even see the conventions, and that makes it easier to
concentrate on what the writer is saying and how passionately she is expressing
her thoughts.
Grade conventions separately if possible—or make that factor
one slice of a bigger writing pie. Is this easy to do? Not at all. But if you
try, you can teach yourself to look beyond conventions to the message and voice
beneath. Think what that will mean to the student who writes with stunning
voice that has never, ever been heard because her spelling and punctuation are
all anyone has ever noticed.
A few years ago, I came across this piece written by a
student who dreaded summer vacation because it meant she would have to leave
her beloved teacher and the school room where she felt safe. She wrote (in
penmanship far harder to read than this clear print) “it is theend
sumrisomisthir butiwrtuvrfrgit [teacher’s name]” Translation: “It is the end.
Summer is almost here. But I won’t ever forget _______ .”
Eventually, you DO need to teach conventions. If you don’t, who will? The thing is, though,
correcting is not teaching. It feels
like teaching, but in reality it’s the opposite. It turns student thinking off.
Number one, you’re being a critic. And what do you do when someone criticizes your efforts? Right. Second, by
making corrections, you’re taking responsibility for tracking down all the errors—so
who’s learning to edit? It’s a rare student, that once-in-a-lifetime driven
student, who learns anything at all from corrected copy. The best way to learn
conventions is by being an editor. Here’s
one way to make that happen . . .
Teach conventions—every day—by making students editors.
Instead of correcting errors, teach conventions by turning
students into editors. Where to begin? In the most logical place of all: with the
problems they’re currently having. Lift
the copy for practice editing right from students’ own work. Sometimes, more
than one student is having trouble matching subjects and verbs, knowing when to
use who or whom, figuring out how to set up a quotation—or whatever. Perfect.
That’s the very issue you want to focus on.
Pluck a representative problem sentence from any student’s piece, and reproduce it on your white board or electronic board for everyone to edit. Here’s a dangling modifier straight from a student’s piece, but it could just as well have come from adult writing—which I love pointing out to students:
Driving
down the road, icicles were hanging from every rooftop.
Next step: Ask
everyone in the class to read the sentence carefully, think about what it
literally says and what the writer means to say, then edit it. This takes only
a couple minutes. Let them check with a partner to see if their editorial
changes match. Ask a few volunteers to share their corrections and write them out
so others can compare their own changes. Work with them, but hold off a bit on
sharing your version.
After editing: Explore the problem. Conventions are often a matter of logic, though students usually don’t think of them this way. In teaching conventions, though, this is one of the most important messages you can get across: Conventions are NOT arbitrary rules designed to trip up unwary writers. Conventions make reading easier. Period. That’s their job. itse asyt oma kethis poi ntb y n otusing thm
Ask students who, in our sample sentence, is driving down
the road? The way the sentence is written, it’s the icicles. That makes no
sense—and certainly is not what the writer means. Notice how easy editing
becomes once we employ a little logic:
Driving
down the road, we saw icicles hanging from every rooftop.
At this point, share your editing too—and in most cases, it
will match closely what your students have done. Of course, one sentence does
not provide a lot of editing practice, so try to find two, three, or more you
can use within one editing lesson. By the way, in my experience students love
this approach to teaching editing and do not feel at all threatened by having
their writing singled out for practice. On the contrary, they feel as if they’re
making a contribution to improving everyone’s editing skills, which they are.
Be positive, be enthusiastic, and be specific!
Be positive. Start
with what’s working. Can’t find anything? Read again. Look deeper. It’s
important to get beyond the cliché response: Thank you for sharing. Maybe this student is tackling a new topic
for the first time, writing more than ever before, finally using paragraphs,
remembering to include a title, experimenting with periods or other
punctuation, including at least one detail, however small, daring to try a verb
other than is, are, was, were.
There’s something. Find it and you give that writer something to build on
instead of another reason to hate writing.
Be enthusiastic.
I have often heard teachers say, “Oh, I’ve read this a thousand times. There’s nothing
new here.” It’s hard to teach for years without coming to that mindset. You
have seen them all, read them all, haven’t you? The special friend, the biggest
surprise, the day someone will never forget. But remember: This young writer
hasn’t written this a thousand times. He isn’t tired of his message. Help him
to see what he’s doing well today and maybe he’ll keep at it long enough to
write something you’ll truly love. Instead of being the person who’s heard it
all before, maybe you can be something much harder to find: the person who listens
for a new riff in that old song everybody recognizes.
Be specific. You
don’t want generalities from your students. They’re just as disappointed when
they get them from you. Comments like “Good job!” feel good for a second or two
(especially when accompanied by a high grade), but they don’t provide the
writer with any ideas about how to improve or challenge herself. A writer needs
to know two things: What, specifically, was so good about that word, sentence,
passage, scene, observation, description, bit of dialogue? And second, what moved,
shocked, surprised, horrified, delighted, entertained, or stopped you in your
tracks?
Think of a comment you’d make to a professional writer whose
novel or nonfiction or poetry was hard to put down. You’d want to go beyond, “Great
job!” Your students will appreciate writer-to-writer responses, too:
You came
up with such precise words for how cats move—“slipping through the grass.” I get
such a vivid picture from that.
Your title
is perfect I kept thinking about it the whole time I was reading.
This is my
favorite detail/image/scene/bit of dialogue in the whole piece.
You made
me laugh out loud.
This
conjured up memories for me. You know how to keep readers reading.
I can tell
what an important event this was for you.
Your
opening scene really sets the mood.
I enjoyed
this passage so much I read it several times.
I love the
way you play with rhythm, shifting from long sentences to short.
Your
dialogue is truly authentic—I feel as if I know these characters.
You tried
something interesting, focusing just on smells instead of trying to include every
last sensory detail. Very effective.
I never
knew dinosaurs could be brainy! I love the way you try to teach readers
something they might not know.
You made
me look at this issue a whole new way. Your argument is compelling.
Thank you
for going beyond words like nice and special to describe your friend.
Saving
this example for last was brilliant—it’s the strongest one.
Your
transitions work beautifully—I find myself floating from paragraph to paragraph
effortlessly. Reading this is a pleasure.
What a
surprise this ending was! I loved it.
You
managed to convey a wealth of detail without ever being repetitive. I can tell
this was written by someone who knows the subject inside and out.
The way
you weave quotations into your text is so smooth it’s as if you’re bringing
these experts right into the conversation.
What an
intriguing topic you chose, the evolution of horses. How did you come up with
it?
This scene
on the river is so vivid I feel as if I’m rafting with you, hanging on for dear
life.
Your voice
is unique—and very strong.
Be
careful what you say.
I’ve often talked
in workshops about a high school teacher who wrote on one of my essays “Your
most irritating habit is your relentless misuse of the semicolon. Please
revise!” It struck me then as now that he must have thought I had numerous
irritating habits since this semicolon thing was the most irritating. And “relentless”? I’m not sure I was relentless
about anything at that point in my life, and even now I can only get just so
excited about semicolons.
My point, though, has nothing to do with that cantankerous teacher
in particular. The point is, comments linger. Don’t write ANYTHING on a
student’s paper that you don’t want that person thinking about decades from now.
If you have something kind and encouraging to say, of course, go for it. But
just so you know, it’s usually the ugly comments that are long-lived. I know
this because I have asked teachers in nearly every one of my seminars to recall
the most positive and negative comments they ever received on their writing. The
majority could not recall a single positive comment. Not one. (“Good job” has
no shelf life whatsoever.) But negative? Hands would shoot into the air, with
people calling over each other to share dark memories that still brought tears
to their eyes ten, twenty, even thirty years after the fact. Here are just a
few arrows to the heart, excerpted from Creating
Writers, 6th edition—
Keeping it positive . . .
I can’t
believe what I see here. There is nothing of worth except that the documentation
is perfect. It is only the documentation that boosts this paper to a D-.
I looking
at this paper again, I believe it is even worse than I originally thought.
Reading
this has depressed me more than I can say.
You simply
don’t know how to write.
This is
basically verbal vomit.
No one
would read this who was not paid to read it.
You missed
the point completely. F.
Do the
world a favor. Don’t write.
I do not
believe you wrote this. This is not your work.
And here’s one I feel right to the core, even though it
wasn’t written on my paper:
Your
writing reminds me of a porcupine—many points leading in meaningless
directions.
Comments like these hurt. They make people hate writing and turn to math for consolation. Nothing wrong with math. But we need writers. Who knows? Maybe there’s a Dr. Seuss, J.K. Rowling, Roald Dahl, Maurice Sendak, E.B. White, or C.S. Lewis in your class. You could be the one to discover the “first words” of a future best-selling writer.
“Something to work
on.” If we have to tread so carefully, though, can we still make
suggestions for improvement? Of course. We just need to teach ourselves how to present
advice in a tactful, caring, respectful way. It helps if we think of
flaws/faults/problems (use any term you like) as “something to work on.” It also helps if, instead of accusing the
writer of deliberately making our lives difficult (“You did this . . .” “Your
writing sounds like that . . .”), we focus on the impact it’s having on us as
readers:
I found
myself confused at this point. Can you put this another way to help clarify
things for me?
As I was
reading this, I wondered how it might work if you . . .
Here’s
something you might want to try . . .
I’m
wondering how this story would work if you wrote from a different
perspective—in another person’s voice, that is. Or you could alternate voices.
I can share an example of this in a conference.
This
ending seemed abrupt to me. I was just zooming along when I came to a sudden
stop. I wonder what would happen if you hinted at what’s coming next.
I had a
sense you felt rushed when writing this. Is that true? Would it help if you had
more time?
My guess
is if you read this aloud you may hear some points where two sentences run
together/you repeat yourself/you started multiple sentences the same way/ or . .
. Try that and then let’s look at it again together.
It always
helps me to read my work aloud. If you haven’t done that yet, give it a try and
see if there’s anything to add or change.
It feels
as if you are writing on two topics—which is hard to do! I’ve done it myself so
I know. Let’s go through this together and see if you can zero in on one topic
or the other.
Your voice
was so strong in the previous paragraph, but I hear it fading here. Do you
agree? Why do you think that might be happening?
This
sounds a lot like a point you made on page 1. I’m wondering if you need this
paragraph as well. What do you think?
I’m
wondering if this topic is working for you. Would you be more comfortable
switching to a new topic?
You’re
working hard to get this image just right, I can tell. Let’s brainstorm some
words that describe angry dogs—sometimes having a word cache to draw from
helps.
I see you
have one source listed here and that’s great! Do you need help finding more?
Have you
considered doing an interview as part of your research?
I notice
you don’t have a title yet—and it’s often the last thing I write. Want to
brainstorm some possibilities?
What if
you and I perform this dialogue together? Hearing words spoken aloud can help
you decide if your characters are saying just what you want them to say.
Semicolons
can really be confusing! If it’s OK with you, I’d like to use this sample
sentence so we can all work on them in our next editing session.
Make
students partners in the assessment process.
Hold on. Students
as assessors? What does this have to do with good writing assessment?
Everything. Having a chance to assess someone else’s writing helps students
understand how every single thing a writer does affects the reader. Writers
hold the reins. Every detail, image, verb, sentence beginning, lead, ending,
transition—and semicolon—has impact on the reader. But you only learn this as
that most careful and attentive of readers, the golden eagle of readers: an
assessor.
Say to a
student “You need more detail here,” and expect your comment to wind up in the
mental box marked “Things it would only bore me to think about right now.” But
give a student a detail-free paper to assess and watch the lights go on. Once
students understand how assessment works, and how much influence they (as
writers) actually have over readers, grades and scores no longer feel as
accidental and unpredictable as roulette. They feel like honest responses to a
writer’s effort.
Plus,
there’s a bonus. When students become skilled at spotting strengths or problems
in someone else’s writing, they learn to look and listen for the very same
things in their own work. Especially if they take time to read what they’ve
written aloud. And just like that, you’ve built a foundation for revision. No
red pen needed.
For numerous examples you can assess as a class just look up
“student writing samples” online. Or check out one of my books, Creating Writers or Creating Young Writers, to see samples I’ve chosen to illustrate
particular strengths or problems.
Keep writers’ options open.
Just because it’s time to hand it in doesn’t mean a piece is
necessarily ready for assessment. Give writers an option. If you feel their
writing still needs a lot of work, you might write this: “I think there’s more you
can do with this piece before I assess it. If you agree, let’s come up with a
new due date.”
Students won’t always take you up on this—but now the choice
is theirs.
______________________________________________
Final thoughts . . .
When most people think about assessment, they think testing,
grading, or judgment. That’s their tunnel vision talking. Assessment isn’t
really about judgment. It is, or should be, a helpful conversation that
incorporates honest, useful, immediately applicable feedback designed to
strengthen performance. If your blood sugar is high, it isn’t helpful to get a
C+ in glucose management. It’s helpful to learn about the hidden appeal of kale
and broccoli and the dangers of doughnuts.
Good writing assessment is easier to achieve when we keep
reminding ourselves of its purpose: to give students the desire, courage, and strategies
they need to handle one of life’s greatest challenges—writing.
This blog post is
lovingly dedicated to the finest teacher I ever had, Margery Stricker Durham.
She taught me not only to write with care but to teach with care. She did that
with one very simple strategy. Every time we turned in a piece of writing, she
wrote back. Not essays, mind you, but genuine notes. More than just a word or
two. She noticed small things—opening lines, endings, attention to accurate
details, easy to read copy, carefully chosen words, thoughtful observations. Now
and then she wrote the words I most longed to hear, better than any grade: “I
really enjoyed reading this.” There is no better gift for any writer to
receive. Thank you, Margery. There’s no way to repay what you gave me, but
then, that’s often the way with teachers.
![The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by [Kate DiCamillo, Bagram Ibatoulline]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51+5cwVK9aL.jpg)
![The Best Cook in the World: Tales from My Momma's Table by [Rick Bragg]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51drp5ASZGL.jpg)
Six Trait Gurus 